


Sometimes Darkness Will Show You the Light

by Voodoosgirl



Series: Divisible By Three [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Embedded Images, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, My First Fanfic, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Recovery, Seizures, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, fanart chapter 27 Permission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 172,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11413665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodoosgirl/pseuds/Voodoosgirl
Summary: Post Civil War/Pre-Black PantherSeventy years as Hydra's property leaves Bucky haunted by the ghosts of his past, filled with guilt and hiding the Voice in his head that torments him. There's no easy fix for the trigger words and the one thing Hydra worked to wipe away for all those years is now the one thing they want. His memories. Steve is determined to not give up on Bucky or his hope for their friendship. Deep down he has to admit to his beyond-friends attraction although Bucky seems too vulnerable. Steve can always hope. Bucky feels it too, now if only the Voice would stop talking.“It’s darker out there in the real world than it is in here pal.” The Voice in Bucky's head.





	1. Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> The beautiful art is from the talented and wonderful Cobaltmoonysart! She truly brought the boys to life as I see them in my imagination. Please visit her art blog on Tumblr. https://cobaltmoonysart.tumblr.com/
> 
> This is my first fanfiction, what an adventure! I had a great time writing this story and I am proud of it in a humble sort of way :) As with all new endeavors, there is always room to learn and skills to be developed so I am open to feedback and constructive critiques. If you feel so inclined, I love to talk with readers and although this is a finished work I am still around! If you are shy, no worries, I am grateful you've come to visit and appreciate that you would spend time with me and the boys. Thank you and enjoy!

                                                                   

 

 

Steve leaned against the back of the sofa to study the makeshift command center filling Natasha’s living room. The object of his focus at the moment, a poster board nailed to the wall. It hung with a faint crookedness that complimented the scrawled words. A near smile crossed his face at the block lettering that announced, “Project Barnes Offensive.” He admired Natasha's dedication if not her wording.

Sam bumped his shoulder and settled in next to him, “Bringing him back to the real world is going to be one hell of a ride, Rogers."

“He’ll walk it off the way we always did. I know Bucky, he’ll shake this off.” 

“You certainly have unwavering faith in the man; I’ll give you that.” He didn’t hold back his laugh.

Steve finished Sam’s thoughts, “But you’re not feeling my optimism?"

“Hey, I’m normally an optimistic kind of guy, but on this, no, not feeling it.” The off-kilter poster begged for his help; he crossed to oblige. It was a good distraction from the rest of what he wanted to say, “He hasn’t exactly been dealing with picking up the pieces of his life after Hydra. There’s a certain level of survival mode that keeps you going, keeps you focused and stable. Soldiers are fine through the worst crap out there, and it isn’t until they get home when it all falls apart.” He turned to face him, “Call me a skeptic, but I’m not that sure he’ll settle into domestic bliss with you once you get him home.”

“We’ll deal with it, trust me. He’s pulled it together before. You called it. I have faith in him, in us.”

Sam watched as Steve folded his arms across his chest, his cue that he was encroaching on hallowed ground. He kept going.

“On another topic, have you reconsidered the backup plan to the house? How about an alternate location, like a bunker or a Winnebago? Just in case the whole living-the-dream in Upstate New York gets us too much on the radar.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, “The view from a bunker sucks. I’m still open to the Winnebago idea, but you’ll have to talk to Nat, her last comment was something about "A cold day in hell with the three of you." He began to pace, “The house is good, state-of-the-art surveillance, I have total confidence in it, you were there. King T’Challa’s people took care of everything.“

“Yeah, well, there's no forgetting the hours of fun we had wiring an 1850's farmhouse like it was a supermax."

Steve threw him the Rogers look-of-disapproval for the supermax reference. 

"Sorry, like a bank? Is that better?" He pointed at the slightly askew poster board that refused to comply with his straightening efforts and dove in deeper, “He still has the trigger words to contend with, you know it's going to take serious therapy, de-conditioning, professional help, maybe years to sort it out."

“We’ll deal with that." Steve’s steps ground to a halt in front of the poster board. His attention fell to the long list of concerns generated by months of midnight brain-storming. He muttered, "It’ll take time, there are specialists, King T'Challa's people are willing to help." He turned to Sam, "Bucky wants this, he wants to get rid of the trigger words, he’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You said he told you he remembers everything. He remembers who he killed. How much do you think that guilt weighs?” Sam put a hand up to stop him from answering, “That, by the way, was a rhetorical question." 

Steve reiterated, “It wasn’t his fault. He has to accept that. I do and so will others in time.”

Sam crossed to an over-sized pad of post-it notes stuck on an easel, “I’m just trying to give you a free session with your friendly mental health counselor.” He pointed with the authority of someone who’d done this kind of presentation before, “Read the flip-chart. Page one: PTSD. Page two: POW for seventy years. Page three: Hydra’s version of electroconvulsive therapy. Page four: He remembers everything. Page five: Did I mention PTSD?”

“We’ve been over this; I get it, I get every damn detail of it, Sam.” Steve turned to resume his pacing, “I know he’s damaged, he’s not going to be the Bucky I remember from the 40’s. We’re both changed but we can do this, we will do this.”

Sam made one last push “I just want you to consider the entire plan; all of it.” He pointed at the one line on the poster that Steve had scratched out. ‘Involuntary commitment.’ He kept going. “What he’s been through, his particular brand of severe complex PTSD isn’t even in the psych doc's bible. If it were, it would have his picture next to it. Just him, no one else.”

Steve’s frown was bordering on irritated, “Not funny.”

“Not joking. We – you need to be prepared for the worst.” He settled against the sofa, arms crossed, holding to his bottom-line.

Steve countered, “You won’t mind if I hope for the best, right?”

Sam laughed, “I expect nothing less from you than your usual blind hope and devotion towards him.”

 

“It’s go-time boys.” Natasha announced as she strode into the room, and tossed a set of keys towards Steve “Your jet is all gassed up and ready to go.”

She winked at Sam as they watched the I-got-it-all-under-control Steve Rogers get just a little unraveled when the keys hit his palm. “All right, you’ll check the house, right?  I think I left the lights on, but I’m sure I turned the stove off, I think, no I’m sure.” He rushed towards the door.

Sam followed with  Steve's jacket and smiled, “Here you might need this. No worries, we’ll check the place.”

His sudden stop forced Sam to run into him, “Food. I forgot the food. Fridge food anyway. There’s nothing to eat.”

Natasha smiled and nodded at Sam, “Oysters, chili peppers, avocados, watermelon.”

“What? No. He needs real food.” Steve's hand made it to the doorknob. “Coffee, hot chocolate, and milk.”

She pushed him over the threshold, “Get going, you don’t want him waking up to strangers.”

He clung to the porch railing, "Trash bags, I used them all.”

Sam grabbed his arm and walked him down the stairs. "No speeding."

Steve ran back up the stairs and added in an almost breathless tone, “Toothpaste, I forgot toothpaste."

Natasha smiled as she put a foot on his butt and provided a loving yet emphatic shove, “We’ve got this end. You’ve texted me a list at least five times. Go away."

He paused on the sidewalk and turned back, an uncharacteristic sheepish look on his face, “You won’t be there right? No offense, but he might not be comfortable.”

Sam provided the herding duties to get him the rest of the way to the truck, “We know the plan, Steve. You get him home. First, we follow in a few days when you call us.”

“Great. We’ve got this.” He climbed into the pickup, turned the key and threw it in reverse. Then park. "Wait. What? Domestic bliss? No. Friends, he’s my friend.” He laughed the kind of laugh that tells everyone within earshot you don't believe a word of your BS as he finally got the truck heading in the right direction.

Sam and Natasha stood on the porch and watched as he left a hint of rubber on the road in his drive off.

“Oysters and watermelon?” Sam grimaced.

“Aphrodisiacs.” She said with a smirk. 

“So, are we betting on when they become a couple?” Sam wondered. “He acts like they’re a couple, don’t you think?”

“A couple? They’re already a couple. They don’t know it yet. Oh, and twenty bucks they’re in bed together in three days.”

Sam laughed, “You’re on.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

Bucky didn’t dream when Hydra put him in cryostasis. It was always a deep and dark excursion into the comforting nothingness. He welcomed the reprieve.

The time in cryo in Wakanda was different. He was dreaming. It rolled on an endless loop through his consciousness never responding to his attempts to wake.

In this dream, there was darkness, the Soldier, and Tony Stark.

A battered red gauntlet hovered close around his throat, stifling his breath. He gasped in spasms of brittle, stale air. Cold fingers tightened their grip on his throat choking down his scream.

A familiar iron mask loomed nearby passing through his vision. It stalked him silently. He gasped again, struggling for air. His body convulsed and crashed into the solid, immovable metal armor that was Iron Man.

“Do you even remember them?” The iron mask whispered. Bucky knew his answer. “I remember all of them,” but in the dream, his words slurred and fell unspoken.

He raised his hand to shove the growing weight off his chest. His right arm twitched as icy hot tingling shot down through his fingers. Waves of heat brought the familiar cramped nausea.

An open metal hand floated towards his face. The repulsor clicked and whined. The white-hot glow filled his vision. He knew what came next. Death by Tony Stark.

The dream cycled through his sleeping consciousness until he heard a voice.

_"You deserve this, Soldat. It’s about time.”_

It whispered close to his ear in an intimate embrace with his mind. He’d heard it countless times before, waxing and waning over his years with Hydra. It brought conviction, condemnation, and companionship in varying degrees dependent on his circumstances. It wasn’t long before Bucky stopped questioning its existence.

The burning light of the repulsor came around again. The mask morphed into the face of Tony Stark. “You killed them, you son of a bitch. You killed both of them.” The iron Stark face went on, “Rogers isn’t going to save you this time."

An image of Steve hovered beyond the crushing metal suit of armor near enough to reach if Bucky could only raise his arm but his outstretched shoulder melted away into a tangled ball of circuitry. He searched for recognition in Steve’s emotionless eyes as he watched Bucky struggle against what Stark rightfully brought to bear; his punishment.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

 

King T’Challa stood next to Steve as the technicians worked to reverse the cryo process. “He’s having some difficulty coming out of this. They’ll get him through it.”

Steve nodded. His fingers itched to rip the cover off the stasis pod. He kept his struggle internal as he took in Bucky’s convulsing movements and gasping breaths. “Soon, right? I can help them.” He muttered.

“Steve, they can get him through it. Trust them.”

“He looks like he’s having a seizure. He looks...” His voice trailed off. He didn’t want what he was thinking to gain any energy by being stated out loud. Bucky looked afraid. That look of fear touched something deep in his core beyond the friendship he remembered. He wanted to protect him, save him, bring him back from the horror he’d been living. Those feelings stirred the one he hadn’t felt since they were kids. Steve didn't want to deny any longer what he’d buried as he watched Bucky fight through the cryo-sleep induced sickness and seizures. He wanted something more than their friendship. 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

 

“Steve?” Bucky sat with his feet dangling off the table, shivering through the cryo-sickness. His skeptical gaze ran up then down his body.

Steve nodded, “Yup. It’s me. Not a nightmare. I think? Really me.”

“Not a trick?”

“Nope. In the flesh.” He offered a quick squeeze of his shoulder.

Bucky's expression of detached curiosity neatly hid away the narrative he listened to as the Voice came to life in his head.

_"You know Hydra would find it funny to trick you. Use your beloved Captain America to get you to comply. They’d watch you be fooled by their game. Laugh at you as they strap you in and take him away."_

The Voice remained harsh, a hard lesson to learn with Hydra when it first started to make an appearance. It was best to keep their conversations hidden from those around him; his eyes on Steve's face never betrayed the words spewed by the Voice.

A technician suggested, “We need to get him to the surgical suite.”

Bucky shook his head at the offered wheelchair and the trip to surgery.

“I’ve got him.” Steve’s hand on his shoulder and encouragement led to an arm around his waist as his bare feet stumbled along from the post-cryo weakness and confusion. 

_"That’s right, Soldat. Go to the chair. It will be cleared up soon. The sickness, the weakness, the guilt will fall away.”_

He hesitated, “Wait. I can’t. I don’t.”

”Come on Buck.  You need this.” Steve’s voice distant. It fell in behind the louder one in his head.

“ _You know it is so much easier when you submit willingly. A few moments of pain is worth the freedom from your memories.”_

Bucky stopped short. His words rasped from a voice not used in close to a year, “No. No more chair. No more wipes. I want my memory. I want him.”

Steve held tighter, trying to control the spreading tremor he could feel running across Bucky’s chest. “What? No chair, no memory wipes. Is that what you think we’re doing?” He ducked in close. Steve searched his eyes for a glimmer of recognition. His hand hesitated at first then he committed to what he thought he’d never do. He brushed the sweat-soaked hair from Bucky’s face, brought his lips close to his ear and whispered, “There is no chair. I am very real. Anyone who wants to hurt you is gonna have to go through me.”

He felt a nearly imperceptible pressure on his side. He knew he felt the brush of his cheek against his lips. Bucky didn’t pull away; he leaned into the touch.

Steve forged ahead, “You with me? Are we good to go? We need to trust T’Challa’s doctors. They need to replace your arm.”

A slow and hesitant nod was his answer.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

 

Bucky drifted in and out of consciousness while they replaced the metal arm. His dreams full of terror. The fight at the silo dominated and cycled through a dozen other battles that left him with his memory scarred with death and blood. The ever-present pain in his shoulder invited in remembering the agonizing flight to Wakanda. He told Steve he wanted to be in stasis until someone could get the words out of his head. That was part of the truth. What he wanted was to sleep, to escape down into the dreamless cocoon of stasis and disappear from the reality of what he’d done.

“I killed Stark’s parents.” His whispered confession startled Steve from his fascination with the surgeon's work.

He turned to the find gray eyes staring intently at him.

“Let it go for now. We’ll talk later.” Steve’s fingers twisted around the waistband of Bucky’s hospital pants.

“I did it, he knows. He saw me do it. Can you imagine that; watching someone kill your parents?"

“They’re almost done." His thumb grazed along Bucky's temple, a bare hint of contact. "We talked about this; you weren't yourself. Enough."

The physical pain of being the Fist of Hydra was Bucky's accepted reality. What wasn't a reality was the guilt. Hydra’s memory suppression machine, the trigger words, years in cryostasis pushed all that into a corner of his mind that he was never allowed to access. Now it came rushing in full-force to dominate all other thoughts or memories. The price of his freedom from Hydra was the guilt.

“He watched me strangle her with my bare hand.” Bucky pushed at Steve’s hand, trying to disengage his fingers.

Steve refused to let go, “You couldn’t stop that from happening. That’s all I’m gonna say right now. Let’s get through this right here then we can talk.”

Bucky whispered, “I killed Howard for God's sake, Howard. How can you look at me like that?”

Steve shot back, “I know what happened. Hydra killed him. They used you, that's it. No more." Bucky's words caught up with him, "How am I looking at you?”

“Like you give a shit about me.”

“I care about you. Of course, I give a shit about you.”

“Then stop it. Stop looking at me like that and clinging to me. You’re an idiot.”

“No, you’re the idiot. You were brainwashed."

Bucky rolled to pull away from Steve but fell back to the table stifling a groan when the technicians grabbed to hold him down.

A voice from behind a surgical mask interjected, “Could you stop arguing with my patient long enough for us to finish this, please. Or do I need to ask you to leave?”

Steve looked around the room at the sudden stillness and wide-eyes of the surgical crew; he muttered, "Sorry. Got it. Fine. We’re fine," before he laid his head on the table to wait out the rest of the procedure. His steadfast hold on Bucky never wavered.

Bucky closed his eyes shutting out Steve, the doctors, the hum and jolt of a new arm that felt a lot like the old one and let the Voice run amok in his head.

_"This new arm is never going to be the glorious appendage that Hydra created. It’s not threatening enough. The neural connections are too sensitive you’ll feel everything now. A weapon doesn’t feel a fine touch like a soft caress. You don’t need that kind of sensitivity it will make you unstable. It did in the past, remember that time you ran away.”_

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

Bucky wondered if it had taken hours or days to pass the battery of tests that cleared them to leave. His only point of reference, the slivered crescent moon high above them as they stood on the tarmac in Wakanda. He watched with an impassive stare as King T’Challa handed over the new arm’s data stored on a thumb drive that Steve tucked in a pocket with quick discretion.

“ _Soldat? Is this your new handler?”_

The muttered, “Apparently so,” never caught Steve’s attention.

 

“So, are you curious about where we're going?” Steve’s opening attempt at a conversation as the quinjet left the ground was his fourth try to get Bucky to talk to him since the surgery. The argument still felt fresh, even if it only lasted a few seconds.

He was surprised to hear him mutter. “Sure.” A quick rise in his hope, “We’re going to New York.”

“Brooklyn?”

Steve settled the jet into the flight pattern and grabbed onto his stubborn optimism to add, “No, not safe enough there. A place in Upstate New York. A good place. We’re going home.”

 


	2. Hot Dogs and Beer

Wakanda to Hope, New York was a long trip even for a quinjet flying in a straight line. It was exhausting when Steve avoided major airports and flew low under the radar most of the way.

They kept up the awkward silence as they left the local airport. It was long past dark when Steve started them on the last leg of their trip home. The old GMC pickup truck groaned as it bounced along the winding dirt road lined with farmland, barns and a few distant houses. Bucky curled against the passenger door and drifted off into the waking sleep encouraged by a long ride in darkness.

Steve stole glances towards him when the street lights brightened the cab. His thoughts drifted back to two boys laughing and talking as they laid on the beach watching the stars, planning out their future, never considering it wouldn’t be together. He could see Bucky sitting with feet dangling from the pier, swinging his legs and smirking at Steve’s red face whenever his flirting drew giggles from the girls nearby. It made him think about the day Bucky went back into cryo sitting on the table swinging his leg. An echo of the boy he knew. He hoped some part of that boy was still there.

Now he laughed at Bucky’s sighed protests as the truck pitched and moaned down the dirt road. An unfamiliar sense of satisfaction started to grow. Something that had been missing since waking in this Century. He had Bucky again. Maybe life could go on now. Even if Bucky’s swagger and cockiness of the 40’s were missing he hoped the sadness he’d seen so far would fade over time. If they were together maybe it would disappear.

He whispered, “Buck, Hey buddy, wake up. We’re here.”

Bucky opened eyes heavy with sleep and blinked into focus the large yellow and white farmhouse looming in the headlights. A welcoming porch with spindled white railings and white trimmed windows – too many windows. He wondered how anyone could feel safe there. He sat in silence followed by, “It’s a house?”

“Yup. Observant. King T’Challa helped us find it and get it ready. Come on, I think you’ll like it.”

Bucky stared and remained firmly planted in the truck.

Steve opened the passenger door. “Come in, and check things out for yourself. I know, hard to believe a house like this but it’s a great place. And we've got some high tech security in there.” Steve jogged towards the porch, jumped up the three stairs, and landed at an antique wood and beveled glass front door.

Bucky cautiously left the truck and followed Steve. He stood in guarded silence, near enough to rescue him from whatever insane danger lurked inside this damn bad idea.

"What the hell are you thinking?" He mumbled.

“ _T_ _he Winter Soldier doesn’t live in a house.”_

Bucky couldn’t agree more. His past was nothing more than a faded picture. Being kids in Brooklyn, the war, art classes, it was all a meaningless memory. His time as the Soldier was his reality now, raw and current. Cryostasis wasn’t punishment. It was an all-encompassing comfort. It was his escape from the torture of mind wipes and handlers. The filth of cells and seedy safe houses, the smell of death and blood.

The asset’s life was one of pain. His own and his victims. That darkness was his world now. Destruction, violence, emptiness, and death. It was hard to recall much of anything else. The one true feeling that was taking over now was the shame. It flirted with his psyche in Bucharest, drove down its insidious roots at the silo in Siberia and was now growing with each minute out of his protected sleep to become a consuming presence in his life.

“ _You don’t deserve this. You’re a monster, losers like you don’t get this.”_ The Voice hissed quietly.

The head shake trying to dislodge the Voice was real if imperceptible to Steve.

The Voice's words had rattled around in his head for years. A faint whisper, in the beginning, it was hard to understand. But as memories came and went so did the power of the Voice. The ebb and flow of an internal critic that matched the clarity of the memory. Shame was the one certainty, and the power of his shame fed the Voice. When he walked away from Hydra and left Captain America lying next to the Potomac, the Voice had become a near constant companion.

He had been of singular purpose on his missions for so long he never heard anything else but the clear directions of his handlers. As his memories returned more fully, rolling in like ocean waves on the breakers, this Voice that cut like a thousand razors exacted its toll.

His feet refused to step across the threshold. A wave of nausea came over him and he had to bite his lip to keep from puking right there on the doorstep. "He'll be pissed if I ruin this before I even get in here."

Steve laughed as if he heard his thoughts. “Come on Buck, I gotta take a leak and I want you in here so I can set the alarms.” He reached out and grabbed the jacket sleeve, dragging him in the way they would have coaxed one another into any number of stunts as kids. Steve smiled. “Welcome home pal.”

Bucky stood wide-eyed and dutiful outside the closed bathroom door. Steve startled at finding him a foot away when he opened it. “Come on I’ll give you a quick tour.” His voice fell into the background of Bucky’s hearing as he conducted his own tour in his head.

Front door keypad entry 0310, three tempered glass windows in the living room, locked and wired to the alarms. Security cameras times three, one on the front door, one covering the living room, one with a view of the staircase. Kitchen double doors to the outside, all secured, back door wired alarm, security cameras, one covering the length of the kitchen, the second one on the back door. Bucky methodically cataloged each exit and potential exit, security measures, sight lines, strategic points for defense, squeaky floorboards and all.

This was standard procedure, ingrained and comforting. He was good at this. He survived because of this.

The upstairs bedrooms were spacious and comfortable. “Pick a room, any one of them, whatever you want.” Steve encouraged.

Bucky nodded slightly, staring at the rooms then at Steve. The words took time to register, being given a choice fell into a world he didn’t live in anymore.

“ _You don’t deserve this. The asset doesn’t live like this.”_

Bucky’s internal assessment continued. Bedrooms, one window each, two-story drop, security cameras in each room and one in the hall. A camera in each bathroom. He never even questioned that odd fact since any expectation of privacy was stripped away long ago.

He could see that one room had clothes and a sketchbook on the bed. The room directly across the hall appeared unoccupied. It had a window over the back porch, easy access to the stairs. He settled on that room. "Acceptable escape route, back of the house, near Steve."

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

They ate hot dogs and drank beer. Bucky smiled softly.

“We loved hot dogs, remember?” Steve chatted as he presented the plates of food to Bucky sitting at the kitchen island, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket.

Steve enjoyed this domestic moment. He launched the great condiment debate about ketchup versus relish versus mustard even if he carried out the debate with Bucky only contributing an agreeing nod and smirk. His bliss was almost contagious. It started to wear down Bucky’s discomfort as his shoulders relaxed and he allowed the warmth to get closer.

“Bucky? You want a beer?”

He shook his head slightly. Not as an answer but to shake away the coldness in his brain.

“No?”

Bucky blinked slowly as his eyes focused on Steve’s worried expression.

“A beer? Would you like one?”

He couldn’t recall the last time he had a beer. He sure the hell didn’t drink it while with Hydra, even when he finally walked away from them. He didn’t recall eating real food when he was with Hydra never mind a beer.

“Um, yeah, sure.” He stuttered out. He took a sip. He wasn’t sure if it was good or tasted like piss. A slight shake of his head to dislodge that disgusting memory. “It’s better than piss.” He muttered.

He drank his beer and ate hot dogs with Steve in the kitchen of their - no - Steve’s home. He even smiled a couple of small smiles as Steve talked about the finer points of New York Coney dogs vs anything remotely on the market today.

_"You can’t do this, you piece of shit. He’ll realize soon what a soulless bastard you are and then he’ll dump you like so much trash."_

The whispered Voice drifted through his mind vying for his attention.

He pushed it aside like clearing a space on a crowded table. The Voice went still for now but was never truly gone, always the promise of more. He worked to allow the warmth of the scene wash over him because he was with Steve and he wanted to cling to the comfort of these rituals. Familiar in a way that he hoped was real.

They finally settled in the living room. Steve sprawled at one end of the sofa, Bucky at the other. Two beers and 4 hot dogs later he had at least shed the jacket. He fought the urge to run out of the room. Not because of Steve. He was the only constant in his darkened world. But that inner razor Voice demanding its due was hovering close in his mind. It was hard to listen to both of them. The Voice and Steve. Hydra didn’t talk this much.

“ _Loser. The Captain's too good for you, too perfect. He’ll never forgive you when he finds out everything you did.”_

He pushed down the Voice and the memories.

They kicked their shoes off and propped their feet on the coffee table, side-by-side talking about baseball and Brooklyn, hockey, movies, and food. Everything safe and bland. No talk of family, the war, and no talk of Hydra or Shield. No mention of Stark or the Widow and Sam. Steve was kind he thought, not asking about what he did for the last 70 years or what he remembered, or didn’t remember. No talk of how he was feeling, or what intel they could get from him to continue their hunt for Hydra. At least not yet.

At one point Steve launched into a monologue about the big screen TV and watching baseball - like you’re really there - so he turned it on to demonstrate.

Bucky vowed silently. "Never gonna tell him how that thing is kinda scary, too frenetic." The onslaught of information was like his staccato memories of death, it seared his nerves. The TV anxiety was nothing compared to the underlying thrill of palpitations and tightness that overtook his body and mind when Steve sat near him. He started to sweat for reasons he wasn’t quite clear on at the moment.

“ _File that under new data, Soldat. Might come in handy later when you need to kill him.”_

Bucky shook his head and slipped a few inches between himself and Steve.

 

Hot dogs, beer, and exhaustion led Bucky to an uncharacteristic sleep curled on the sofa. His breathing was slow and steady, his head propped on a pillow.

Steve settled in a chair that gave him a good vantage point to watch over him. He studied his face, surprisingly youthful for the truth of his age but the scattered lines of stress told a different story. “Ancient,” He thought, "as ancient as I feel.”

Bucky's sleep was fitful even now. A twitch of a hand, a faint barely-there whimper, Steve thought he saw a tremor shake his hair. He wondered if he had nightmares. His eye was drawn to the new metal arm. It was dark with a faint golden hue along the seams. Lighter, clean lines, lethal still. The refinements were noticeable with finer fingers, more subtle movements, and quieter mechanics. He laughed to himself when he thought about sneaking closer to touch it the way they would have been as kids sharing all those intimate things that fascinate. “Show me your boner, Stevie, come on.” He could hear Bucky's rasped whisper under the sheets, across the long years. His out loud laughter made Bucky stir with a moan which only made him laugh harder.

Steve sat tired and full of a contentment that he hadn’t felt since waking in this Century. He had Bucky again with his memories and all the qualities that endeared him to Steve. Argumentative, loyal, incorrigible, smart, snarky not to mention the long hair. Steve muttered, “Who knew I'd like that?”

Bucky stirred and curled in on himself. His stretch made Steve think of a cat he once knew. He found a quilt and tucked it carefully around him. His hand hesitated before he reached to brush the loose hair back behind his ear. The comforting sound of deep and steady breathing in the darkness released him from his watch and he headed to his own bed.


	3. I'm Not Crazy

2 AM.

First night in the home. Bucky woke wild-eyed with ragged gasping, cramping waves of nausea gripping his throat, twisting his gut.  Sweat plastered wet hair to his scalp and clung cold to his neck. The moaning toss and turn built to a stifled scream. 

 _"Shut up! Shut up. No screaming at night, you know it’s not allowed_.  _Only screaming when in the chair or fighting. Punishment and pleasure, Soldat, punishment, and pleasure."_

A flailing search around him, hands on the sofa, to the floor and the end table, an empty gesture looking for a weapon.

Heart beating hard, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Waking in a new place disconcerting; faces changing, locations old and varied, the repetitive waking ritual never the same but grew routine. This waking different, a home, no weapons, no self-created barriers of defense or protection. No one handling him, staring at him, pulling him to that damn chair. A choking swell of aloneness filled his chest.

A slow and welcome recollection of Steve washed over his mind, the echo of his words, “Welcome to our new home,” spoken with a softness long forgotten. Bucky’s head started aching. “Home?” He could barely grasp the concept of living in one place for more than a few weeks never mind embrace this old farmhouse. He stared with emptiness at the rugs and furniture, the pictures on the walls, the big screen TV. He was more able to accept the concept of his own room if he concentrated he could imagine it was a cell. The whole place was comfortable and warm; it tore at his heart with distinct sadness. Shame roared up from his belly.

_"The asset doesn’t live like this; you’ll filthy up the place; you’ll soil in your own bed like a caged animal."_

The Voice's anger at his glimmer of comfort twisted his thoughts and gut.

Sleep wouldn’t come back that night. He chose to get to the business of reconnaissance. He wandered each room with ease in the dark. Searching for chinks in the armor of protection. He checked each door and window, once, twice, three times. A basement gym, well lit and equipped but he found it oppressive. Uncertain what features caused his discomfort, perhaps it was the low ceiling, the padded floor; the space brought forth unnamed fears. A room off the kitchen with a computer that controlled the security feed for the house. He studied the perimeter cameras for gaps and weaknesses. There were plenty.

His search didn’t turn up a single gun or tactical knife. “Good.” He thought, then, "Maybe, not good.” He didn’t want to hurt anyone. No one, not even Hydra or Stark. Not anymore. But then again he felt naked, defenseless. "Maybe one weapon would be a good idea." He resolved to find one somehow.

It was nearly dawn by the time he found himself in his own room staring at the large and comfortably made bed. He never even considered using it. He reached to drag the mattress to the floor and thought better of it. “Steve’ll never let that go." He settled near the door; if someone came in it would hit his feet and wake him. Although he had no plans on sleeping. The Winter Soldier didn’t sleep, he watched and waited.

_"You sleep on the floor like the dog you are."_

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“God Steve, it’s too early for running, isn’t it?”

Steve laughed, “Nope. Let’s get going," as he dragged Bucky by his sleeve towards the back door.

“It isn’t even light out," Bucky had a rush of déjà vu. "We did this before didn’t we?" 

“Yes, Buck we did. You always hated mornings, and I always wanted to get up and going." Steve shot that statement over his shoulder as he started jogging in circles around him. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

"Yeah, yeah." He hated running for no good reason. He could run forever to chase down a target, or fulfill a mission but running just to run seemed a ridiculous waste of good energy but he’d rather be with Steve than left behind. So running it is.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

The run wasn’t a half bad idea Bucky conceded, to himself, not to Steve. It helped to clear his head of the haunting voices and visions that kept him company at night. He sprawled on the sofa with his flesh arm across his face, one foot on the floor and the other leg slung over the armrest. He settled into the satisfying tiredness of 90 minutes of driving his body full out through the dawn.

Steve was humming to himself, happy to have a partner that could match him stride for stride. He made his way to the chair nearest to Bucky. “I can’t believe he’s here.” Steve rolled it over in his mind. There was Bucky. All he had to do was reach out an arm’s length and touch him. After all the years and pain, he was right there napping on the sofa.

He sat drinking in the mix of dreams and reality; he studied the man he remembered. The firm jawline, the long hair, the way his muscled abdomen peaked out between the T-shirt and sweatpants. His left hip bone visible above the band of the sweats, a teasing amount of skin. Steve’s eyes lingered on the subtle bulge beneath the stretch of the sweats. “God he looks amazing.” Steve wondered if he could sneak away quietly enough to get pencil and paper to capture this moment.

He was outright staring at Bucky’s crotch by the time he shook himself out of the trance. “What the hell am I doing? This is so not right.” Steve buried his head in his hands, the last thing he wanted was to be lusting after his friend, especially when he knew he was categorically heterosexual.

“What about the words in my head?” Bucky’s voice soft and uncertain as it broke the silence. But Steve heard them loud and clear despite being lost in his own self-loathing. Bucky was still lying on the sofa; not sleeping after all. Steve looked up to connect with his intense gaze.

Steve’s face betrayed a fleeting look of sadness then resolve. The trigger words remained an issue, firmly tucked away in his psyche. Bucky could still be overtaken and manipulated to forget himself and become the Winter Soldier if someone knew the words. They had no idea where the red book ended up. Zemo had it last at the silo in Siberia so it could be anywhere. Likely in the hands of the CIA as evidence against Zemo. They hadn’t discussed it yet. No hot button issues. But that book could be used against Bucky too. It could contain information that would put him away for the rest of his very long life. Or it could vindicate him. Steve had already decided his long game on this situation, he would find a way to get his hands on that book. 

 

“There are some excellent people out there who may be able to help you, help us. T’Challa gave us some names. People he’s had vetted, so they’re safe for us to approach.” Steve searched Bucky's face for permission to go on.

He’d had long conversations with Sam and Natasha before waking his friend about how they would go forward, bringing Bucky home. Natasha had even christened it “The Project Barnes Offensive” and laid it out on a whiteboard with stickie notes, algorithms and a Venn diagram for good measure. Steve loved the way she threw herself into this, even if it felt more like a battle plan than supportive friendship; then again, maybe it needed to be a battle plan. He hoped not.

Bucky’s response to the offer of “really excellent people” was muted. He lay on the sofa more still than before speaking, if that was even possible. He didn’t answer right away. Steve noticed a slight twitch of his head, a new-found tic not seen before now. 

“What kind of good people?” he questioned. 

Steve paused, then offered, “People who can help get past everything." 

Bucky shifted a skeptical eyebrow towards Steve and called him on it. “Well, that was vague.” He drawled.

“Yeah, that was. OK, therapists. A psychiatrist. People to talk to, to talk with, to help with how you might feel, help work past the words, help get over the things they, things that happened to you, get over, I mean, get past, really get better...Crap." Steve shook his head and ran his hands through his hair.

“Eloquent.” Bucky slowly sat up and dropped both feet to the floor. He pulled the T-shirt down to cover his stomach and wrapped his arms around himself. “How can a therapist get the words out of my head? I’m not crazy, Steve. I don’t need therapy; I need someone to get rid of the words.”

“No, no you’re not crazy, no one is saying that. It’s just that a therapist can help overcome the words, the conditioning. They can help with how you feel.” Steve was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“How I feel? What does that have to do with the trigger words? I feel fine. I am fine.” Bucky’s voice was sharp, his body tensing. “I want the words gone. I didn’t ask for them. I didn’t agree to put them in my head. I didn’t volunteer for this. I just want help taking them out of my head.”

“I know Buck, but we may need to work on this slowly. T’Challa’s people didn’t have any quick fixes. They offered therapy and deconditioning. They called it deprogramming, working through what happened and working with the trigger words."

Bucky shook his head hard and scowled; the metal arm flexed, so it whirred with nearly as much expression as his face. “I don’t want to talk about what happened to me. I don’t want to talk about any of it.” His voice firm and clipped. 

“What am I supposed to say to a psychiatrist?” He was angry now; voice loud and cracked. “Right. Hi, my name is Bucky, and I’m an international assassin wanted in 117 countries, I’ve been brainwashed, frozen and I’ve killed hundreds of people over the past 70 years, nice to meet you, got any ideas? Or maybe I ask to see their fucking resume to see if they’ve treated any brainwashed POW 100-year-old assassins!”

His last statement ended in a near hysterical shout. If it wasn’t so damn tragic, it might have been funny.

Steve offered, “I’m sorry.” He wanted to have a better answer. He felt an overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around his friend and hold him so tight all the broken pieces would be forged back together. But Bucky hadn’t opened the door to touch. He slipped to his knees to look up into his face. “I am with you; I hope you know that. I will do anything and everything I can to help, just don’t give up. We can do this; we will do this.”

Bucky searched the earnest blue eyes staring up at him. He wanted to believe him.

_"Idiot. So you get rid of the words, you think that changes anything? You murdered hundreds of innocent people; words didn’t make you do that. A piece of shit like you, those words are part of you now."_

Bucky’s head twitched hard as he reacted to the Voice's shouting. The force of its tone unnerving him. He wondered if Steve had heard it too. The uncertainty crawled across his features. 

“I have to shower.” He pushed past Steve kneeling in front of him, nearly knocking him over.

“Great. Well played, Rogers." Steve's first attempt at approaching the whole therapy thing just failed miserably. He had to concede, maybe the “Project Barnes Offensive” had some traction.

He worried about how to help Bucky recover, especially when he didn’t think he needed to recover. It was naïve to think he would regain his memories and just pick up where he left off. Foolish to think he would be Bucky from the 1940’s again. Steve knew that Bucky felt shame over all that had happened; he held himself responsible for what he did as Hydra’s asset. No matter what Steve or anyone said, Bucky blamed himself. That was going to be the greatest hurdle they faced.

Sam's words came back, “This is going to be one long and tumultuous ride, Steve. The hellfire storm in Bucharest, the airport fight, Siberia. He was fine, but that was all a distraction from the nightmare he’s been living. When you two settle into an everyday routine, I’m afraid he’s gonna come apart when you get him home.”

Steve hoped Sam was wrong about Bucky.


	4. Nightmares and Cold Showers

  
The nightmares varied.

  
Dark red curtains hung in every dream, an opulent dinner party, a remote village, the cryostasis chamber, a cascade of red surrounding his every step. Voices slurring through the images, rising and falling words flirting with his waking mind. Players in his dreams ignored him at first, an unseen observer, gathering information without leaving a mark. 

  
His clandestine status never lasted, faces turned towards him, chatter morphed to screams when he fought against their attention. That’s how it went in real life, as the asset. In his dreams, the screaming turned to laughter. Death turned into hands; insistent and powerful, they pressed against his chest, held down the metal arm, and pushed him backward into a grave.

  
Some nights he’d scream as the dirt filled in around him. He’d wake with a choked out sound, shivering from the cold sweat that dripped down his back. Other nights the scream would drive his body into motion. He’d thrash against the unseen hands, bringing him to his feet.

  
Tonight, his struggle to escape the grave ended at the bottom of the stairs.

  
The fight to survive woke Steve, a scrambled run down the stairs to jump over his prone body, “What the hell?"

  
Bucky struggled to put distance between them his back bumping against the wall. “Don’t touch me.” His arm shot towards Steve, connecting with his jaw enough to compound the overwhelming dread but not hurt him.

  
Steve didn’t back away, “It’s a dream, just a dream.”

  
“Steve? I’m sorry, sorry.” An awkward crawl to pull himself back up the stairs.

  
“Wait. Just wait," Steve moved past him, wanting to reach out, to close the space, knowing he couldn't, he kept their distance measured and tenuous, “Let me in.”

  
Bucky hesitated, eyes averted, breath coming hard, the only sound in the darkness. 

  
Steve's hand ached to reach out, to brush the sweat-soaked hair from his face, a sliver of light hinting at a darkening bruise on his temple, a close guarded imagined touch, he pictured his fingers pressed to his skin, wet hair cleared from his cheek, he whispered, “Come on. Come with me.”

Bucky stopped in the doorway to Steve’s bedroom. “No. Not in here.”

  
“Neither of us are sleeping. Maybe if you’re here. Someone close. You might get some rest.”

  
“I’ll hurt you.” He shook his head.

  
“I trust you.” Steve reached towards him but let his fingers fall short of connecting.

  
Bucky chewed on his cheek and let the moment hang. He remembered lying next to Steve as kids. Sleepovers on sofa pillows or watching the night sky lying on the beach. The memory brought a calmness that hadn’t been his companion in years. An image of Steve as that skinny boy nearly brought a smile; what it did bring was the heat that spread to his chest whenever they were close.

  
He glanced towards the hallway behind him, then back towards the bed.

  
“Come on, we both need some sleep.” Steve grabbed extra pillows.

  
A hesitant step, then another, an awkward perch on the side of the bed.

  
“Great.” Steve crawled in to lie flat, an obvious dry assessment, “You might sleep better lying down.”

  
Bucky remotely thought of a good come-back involving assassins, sleep and remaining upright, but his thoughts were increasingly like word salad, so he kept it to himself. He laid down, face up, his arms tightly wrapped around his chest.

  
“Good. Now close your eyes and get some rest.” Steve rolled to face him. The darkened room didn’t hide his silhouette. He’d studied that face a thousand times before now. Drawn the line of his cheekbones, the shape of his eyes so often in the past that he could draw his likeness from memory. There were more lines now, the outward nuanced testament to what Hydra had done to him. Steve held firm to what he believed, to what he knew with no uncertainty; Bucky was and is a good man.

  
The world had started to turn gray after the Project Insight fight. It was a muddied mess after the silo battle with Stark, but the one clear fact he held onto was his loyalty to the man lying inches away from his hand.

  
Bucky watched the hallway occupants. Faintly manifesting acquaintances from his past, they had started to gather in his peripheral vision. The nightmares were painful events that he could work through like a difficult mission. The ghosts were something altogether different. A crowd of speechless apparitions that were intruding on his waking hours. Nothing he’d tried had deterred the growing audience.

  
Until now. His ghostly entourage didn’t cross the bedroom threshold. “Good to know.” A dispassionate cataloging of data “Must be afraid of Steve.” The tightness in his shoulders relenting enough for his arms to fall to his sides even if sleep wouldn’t come.

  
_“Close your eyes. You know what to do here. Make him think you’re sleeping.”_

  
Bucky complied with the Voice’s command. “Eyes are so dry; gotta rest them.” He justified his obedience to himself.

  
_"You need someone telling you what to do. You can’t handle this. What the hell were you thinking walking off like that? Leaving your family. Ungrateful, pathetic shit."_

  
The Voice wasn't afraid of Steve even if the ghosts were.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
“Hey Buck, I wanna show you something.” Steve leaned over Bucky’s shoulder as he sat cross-legged on the sofa staring at the blank TV screen. He didn’t respond.

  
Steve worried to himself, “He looks like hell.” The dark sweats were soiled, his hair tangled and unwashed. The lack of sleep was showing in the dark circles, hollowed cheeks and vacant stare. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  
Bucky slowly started to uncurl his body without making eye contact. A faint tremor shook his head. He padded barefoot behind Steve towards the basement stairs, then across the gym’s mat covered floor to the blank far wall.

  
“You need to see this.” Steve pressed a nondescript panel on the right of the wall. It triggered a hidden door that swung open on a large room that automatically lit up with soft overhead lights.

  
“Come in. It’s our tactical room.” Steve stepped in.

  
Bucky stayed out.

  
“It’s safe. I, I wouldn’t ask you, you need to trust me. I want you to trust me.” Steve relied on words and sheer willpower to move Bucky through each day, but with every passing hour, their grip on reality began to slip away. Steve chasing him not around the world but deep into his own mind.

  
He hoped a different focus might help, “Here it is Buck. Our tactical room. King T’Challa spared no expense.”  
The room hardly fit with the old country farmhouse that sat above it. Sleek and state of the art computers filled the far wall. “Great connectivity despite being out in the woods. We've got full surveillance capabilities for a mile around the house, motion sensors, alarms. We can sleep at night. You can sleep.”

  
Steve crossed to the wall of storage cabinets. “We’ve got storage for our gear; go bags, burner phones, weapons. Everything we’d need.” He pointed to the opposite wall covered in cork and whiteboards; paper maps and diagrams. He started to blurt out, “Not as high tech as Stark,” but managed to pull it back and laugh, “Low tech. Just our speed right?”

  
Bucky scanned the room, a slow and methodical study, his gaze coming to rest on Steve. “You’re not Captain America anymore.”

  
“No. Not anymore. Too much has happened.” Steve sat on the edge of the table.

  
Bucky mumbled. “I happened.”

  
“You aren’t the reason I dropped that shield.”

  
“I was there, remember. You made a choice.”

  
“I did. I chose you. But you aren’t the reason I dropped that shield, and neither is Stark.”

  
“Yeah, tell yourself whatever you want. You lost everything because of me.” Bucky turned to leave.

  
Steve stood, hoping his movement would keep him from retreating. “Not true. I get it. You don’t see it but you will.”

  
“See what, Rogers? What a hopeless optimist you are?”

  
Steve stepped closer. “You already know better than anyone that’s a lie.” His foot slid forward, edging to close the gap between them.

“I know that someday you’ll see that chasing you around the world was worth the effort.” He thought he saw, maybe felt, Bucky lean slightly towards him as if he was drawn to the impending contact. He held his breath, waiting for his follow through.

  
Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s for a heartbeat; then darted away. A tremor shook his body as he stepped back to wander along the wall of cabinets.

  
Steve forged ahead. “I’ve been thinking I would work under a new name. Nomad. A man without a country.”

  
Bucky nodded. “That’s a plan.”

  
“I was hoping you’d think about helping. If you wanted to, felt like it.” Steve searched his impassive expression, wondering if he’d even heard what he'd said.

  
“You want to know what I know about Hydra.” Bucky stood at the far end of the room. A cold look on his face, his voice flat. He had vaguely wondered when Steve would get around to asking about Hydra.

  
“If you want to. No pressure but they are still active and a threat. I thought maybe you’d want some payback.”

  
“Payback? For what?” He muttered.

  
“For what they did to you. They tortured you. Don’t you want payback?”

  
It was hard to hear what Steve was saying. The Voice in Bucky’s head was getting louder. Calling him Soldier and giving orders. The ghosts were hovering always closer, bumping against him at every turn. Bucky may have wanted payback at some point in time, but not anymore. The Voice wouldn’t allow it.

  
_“Payback? For what? You deserved every bit of what happened. You did those things. Your choice.”_

  
“I don’t want to put pressure on you, Buck. I just thought maybe doing something with what you might know, if you remember things, it will help you let it go. We could find things to work on...”

  
“You suck at this, Steve,” Bucky stated flatly. He slowly began stalking the room. “I remember a lot of details, sometimes it’s clear. Bank accounts, names, places. Sometimes not so clear.”

  
_“There’s a price to pay for infidelity, Soldier.”_

  
Steve was feeling more hopeful. “Good. We can write it down, plan it out but only if you feel comfortable. When you feel up to...”

  
Bucky spit out, “Don’t fucking coddle me. You want the information; I’ll do what I can.”

The sudden flare of anger didn’t make much sense to Steve. But Bucky knew where it was coming from, every passing minute filled with the Voice in his head telling him he was still the Soldier.

  
_"That’s right, Soldier. You’re still ours. Still our loyal asset. Lead him on. Tell him anything. Make him think they are your secrets. Whatever works to shut him up. You’ll be rewarded for a job well done when you come home to us."_

  
He was starting to believe the Voice. He pushed past Steve.

  
“Wait. What the hell happened?” Steve reached but didn’t connect. He let him go.

The frigid water comforting even through his clothes. His mind slipping into numbness with the rest of his body. The Voice growing quiet in the cold. Shivering took his mind off the pain. The showers at the house offering solace like nothing he'd experienced before the fall, or with Hydra. Pressure strong and biting, leaving skin sore and muscles tight. Thoughts drifting back across hazy memories, water-boarding, a frozen lake, a fire hose. Undisturbed by the coldness chilling deep into his bones, a sensation hinting at home.

  
His own voice whispering, “Steve would be angry about this.” But it didn’t make him leave.

  
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
Steve texted Natasha.

  
NMD: Hey.  
RED: Ready for reinforcements yet?  
NMD: No. We’re fine.  
RED: Sure? I can be there in an hour.  
NMD: NO. We’re fine.  
RED: How’s it going then?  
NMD: What r u up to?  
RED: Washing the windows. Then patching the roof.  
NMD: Sounds good.  
RED: Seriously? You think I do windows??? I’m coming over.  
NMD: NO. DO NOT COME OVER.  
RED: Don’t be a damn martyr. He’s a mess, isn’t he?  
NMD: NO. He’s great. Really. Great.  
RED: LIAR.  
NMD: All good.  
RED: Stop it! Let us help you!!!!  
NMD: Gotta go. Out. Door.  
RED: ??  
RED: HELLO?  
RED: Answer me! 3-2-1 calling Birdman now.  
NMD: No. NO. Found him. We’re good.  
NMD: Walking. Soaked?  
NMD: Home.  
RED: CALL ME.


	5. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting darker just a little heads up.

He dreamt of falling. Wind rushing past his face, Steve’s hand nearly touching his fingers. Heart-stopping terror as the wind and snow covered mountain rushed past his falling body, he waited for the moment of impact that would tear him apart. Night after night would start with that fall. He could hear his own voice screaming; heard Steve’s desperate call of “Bucky.”

Then the dead came to move through his dreams. Cold hands, hollow eyes, screams of agony and voices begging for mercy. Faceless at first, but with each passing night, the dead took form. Faces started to match places, times, missions. Nothing chronological, always jumbled, wavering in and out like watching scenes through billowing smoke.

Bucky tried to sleep; on the floor of his room, on the sofa, under the tactical table; exhausted dozing that would end in a gasping strangled cry, covered in sweat and terror.  The night in Steve’s bed kept the ghosts at bay for a moment but the hum of anxiety that thrilled through him from lying close to Steve wouldn't allow him to ask again.

Once Steve had settled down for the night, he would begin to roam the house; touch the doorknobs, once, twice, three times. Lock….unlock…lock each bolt and door. Repeat three times each lock. Any obsessive check only bought him a few minutes of freedom from his head. His anxiety would ebb and flow like waves, never ceasing to move, always full of power and potential to crash down upon him and ultimately wash him away.

Every hour of darkness, without sleep, brought the dead from his dreams to his waking state. They began as faceless but as the night wore on they became familiar; men, women, the innocent and the guilty; all staring, reaching, speaking. Muffled words that became clearer with the passing of time.

_Why did you do this to me?          I didn’t deserve to die.               I never hurt you._

_Please let me go, I won’t say anything.                        How dare you.          Stand down, soldier._

_Mission report.       You’re the perfect weapon.                No eye contact! Soldier!                                   Please save me._

_Please let my children go._

 

Bucky realized the voices of the dead sounded a lot like the Voice in his head that told him how useless he was; drove home his guilt and shame; told him how he deserved to be punished.

“They're not real, not real, not real.” He mumbled to himself as bare feet stepped soft from door to the window. "Three plus three." He touched the window lock and ran his hand through his soiled hair. "Six then six again." He tapped the bathroom doorknob before moving towards the front door, but something caught his eye in the living room. He cautiously raised his head to focus on a shadowed figure, motionless and shimmering, backlit by the yard's security light that streamed in the far window. He blinked hard, trying to get exhausted eyes to focus in the darkened room. A heated rush of fear tightened across his throat. “How could anyone get in here? I just checked everything.” He shook his head to clear the hair from his vision, as his eyes adjusted to bring the figure into focus.

A pulled in gasping breath, caught short when his gaze came clear resting on Howard Stark.

Cold, dark eyes locked on him, no words or gestures, only the hard stare of a dead man.

“No. This can’t be real. You’re dead.” A stammering whisper, "I killed you.”

Howard's mouth opened and closed without words or sounds, slow motion attempts to speak empty; cold accusations crossing his features morphing to anger. 

“Maybe I am crazy. This is so fucked up. I know you’re not there. I think you’re not there.” An uncontrolled shudder ran through his body; he rubbed his eyes until the pressure blurred his vision, a staggered backward step to retreat into the kitchen, too shaken to look over his shoulder. 

He steadied his hands on the kitchen island and fought down nausea gripping his belly. 

“Damn Barnes, settle down. You’re starting to see things.”

"Water, I need water." He fumbled with a glass and turned on the tap. "I'm dehydrated. That's it, I need water." He gulped it down,  head tilted back, eyes closed. The coolness washed over him, relaxing tense muscles. He let his guard down. “Just calm down, idiot." He allowed himself a heavy sigh. "You’re the fucking Winter Soldier. Shaking at shadows." He rasped out a short laugh and leaned forward on the sink when a movement to his right caught his self-chiding and brought it to a halt.

Within inches, here in Steve’s kitchen was Maria Stark.

Bucky sucked in a breath as his eyes locked with Maria's icy glare. The sound of a glass breaking echoed in the background of the terror that filled him. "This isn't happening." He whispered. He tried to turn away but the woman's stare rooted him in place. A sob shook his body when Maria slowly raised her hand towards him.

"Move, Barnes, come on, move your feet." But his muscles failed to respond. They were powerless in the face of his victim's stare.

“You’re not real. This can’t be real. I’m dreaming." Maria's finger was pointing at him, moving forward now, advancing inevitably to mark him, when one foot slid backward. A shock of pain rattled him from the trance. He glanced down at a bloody print, when he looked up, Maria was gone.

Adrenalin fueled heat coursed through his body. "Ok, I can handle hurt, give it out, take it, but this? Ghosts? Seeing things? What the hell is this?" He'd never been trained for this. It was all Bucky in the aftermath.

There was one certainty. He wanted to feel safe and the only safe place was with Steve. He tore through the house straight to Steve's room. "No looking for them; just look down, no eye contact, just get there." He slid to a stop next to the bed. The sprawled shadow of Steve was faintly visible, his breathing slow and deep. Bucky struggled to quiet his panic. He didn’t want to wake him. "How the hell do I explain being terrified of a ghost." Self-doubt nagged at his thoughts but the ghosts were waiting just beyond the bedroom door. He remembered an old game they played when they slept together as kids. "Match you breath for breath, Stevie." The soldier curled down to the floor by the bed and played their childhood game.

_"You think you’re safe here? He can’t protect you from the dead. They have forever to wait for you. All the time in the world to wait to destroy you. The dead will win this fight soldier."_

_> >>>>>>>>>>>>_

5 AM comes early and dark. Steve woke from the fitful dozing that masqueraded as sleep these nights and rolled over to put feet on the floor. Only he found something soft there that felt a lot like a body. He wasn't too alarmed given the past few days of Bucky wrangling. He pulled his feet back to bed and looked down to find him curled into a tight ball so close to the bed that his head was nearly under it. A sighed "What the..?"

“Bucky?”

“Hey buddy, that’s not looking real comfortable.”

Steve crouched nearby, his voice calm and reassuring despite seeing the dried blood on the floor and Bucky’s feet. Steve was hoping he'd wake easily but the reality was, he was slipping away from Steve every day.

Bucky woke suddenly and jerked his head up, rapping it into the bed frame.

”Ouch,” Steve said it for him. “You OK?”

“No. Yes. I’m fine. Where? I’m OK. Just couldn’t sleep so I laid down here. Sorry.” He scrambled to his feet but lost his balance with the sudden movement. He stumbled backward to sit on the bed as Steve stood and reached out to steady him. He flinched away.

“God, Buck, you look like hell.” He ran his gaze over him. The dark sweatpants soiled, his hair ragged and greasy. His face thin, darkness under his eyes; his normally well-defined body was looking leaner, not in a healthy way.

“You’re not sleeping at all. Worse than that, you’re not eating, not taking care of yourself.” Steve tried to offer his view gently. “We need to talk about this. You can’t keep this up.” Steve ran his hand through his hair and sat next to Bucky on the bed. What he was thinking was “WE can’t keep going like this.” But he didn’t want to put that on him.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“No, Buck. I know you’re sorry but that isn’t enough now. We need to talk and make some decisions here. You’re exhausted. More than exhausted. You’re confused and not talking to me. You just stare at nothing. I don’t know what to do half the time.”

“Talk about what? I don’t sleep much. I slept for the better part of seventy years, maybe I don’t need to sleep so much anymore, maybe it’s that damn serum they gave me, or maybe they did this on purpose to me, so I’d be a better weapon….” His words trailed off but there was that sudden burst of intense anger again.

Bucky stood up to leave. He started past Steve who tugged at his arm as he passed, trying to keep him from avoiding another conversation. Bucky swung around hard with his left fist straight for Steve’s head. He was ready and blocked effectively enough to throw him off balance. They scuffled together until they fell against the far wall without any more punches being thrown. Neither of them really wanted this to happen.

Steve leaned hard into him, pinning him with his body as he struggled to pull away. He let his head rest against Bucky’s neck. He felt his ragged breathing as their skirmish subsided. Steve knew he could get away easily if he wanted, but right now maybe what they both needed was this closeness. The physical contact that they wouldn’t allow one another except under the pretense of a scuffle. Steve ached to have his friend close. He was adamant "It wasn’t sexual." He acknowledged the desire to hold onto him, to protect him, to put all the broken pieces back together. Then maybe they could consider the sexual part of this, but not right now. If Bucky was even interested which of course he wasn’t. Steve was positive. “I am so pathetic.” Steve thought to himself. “I just turned this horribly sad moment with him into a sexual fantasy. I’m going to burn in hell.”

“What happened to your feet.” Steve let go of the bear-hug and just kept his hands pressed to Bucky’s chest. He could feel his heart beating erratically and felt the faint tremor.

“What?” Bucky rasped.

“Your feet, they’re bloody. What happened?” Steve stepped back so Bucky could see his feet. “Yup, that was a tremor.” He thought as he noted the shakiness of Bucky's hands and the hair that hung around his face.

“I dropped a glass, I think.” He failed to mention that Maria Stark made him drop the glass. A minor detail. “I’m so…” he stopped short of yet another apology.

“That’s fine. Let’s get you cleaned up and check on that glass. Then we need to talk.”

Steve herded Bucky to the downstairs bedroom that had the walk-in shower. “Come on, get those clothes off.” He turned on the water, testing the temperature, and then held out the laundry basket for the deposit. Bucky wordlessly obeyed.

There were no random sexual thoughts as Steve looked at his friend’s nakedness. It was hard to see. His broad shoulders were bent inward, his firm abdomen hollow, hip bones showing too much. The contour of his thighs and chest flattened. Then there were the scars, old wounds on his back and legs, the shoulder scars, vicious and telling. “How could those not hurt?” He wondered. Steve tried to not stare at them but he took inventory of each one fueling his anger at Hydra, Zola, Pierce, anyone and everyone who used and harmed this man.

“Ok, get in there, is it warm enough?” Steve wrestled with the unfamiliar rush of feeling helpless, “One step at a time," the slow repeated internal mantra as he set to the task of getting through the shower.

Bucky tried to adjust the water temperature colder, but Steve intervened. “No, let’s compromise and keep a little warm water in there, buddy, it’ll work better to get the grime off.” He handed him the shampoo, then the soap and supervised the slow and methodical process of getting clean again, helping only where absolutely needed.

Steve considered having a good cry at some point if he could ever get Bucky settled down for a few minutes. He shook that thought off. “He needs you now, remember all those times he saved your ass as a kid. All those times you were sick, he didn’t run off to cry. He found ways to get your medicine, kept us going, working two jobs, seven days a week. Taking care of both of us.” Steve shook off his tiredness and helped Bucky get dried off and into clean clothes. He decided to forego the talk.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“How’s it going?” Sam’s voice was tentative on the other end of the line.

“Good, good.”

“Good? Define good.” He could hear Sam’s skepticism. “You’re still alive kind of good or we’re shooting hoops and talking all night about family and football kind of good.”

“Somewhere in-between.” Steve lied. He had moved to the yard to answer the 20 text messages from “Birdman.” Bucky was clean, fed, dressed in clean clothes, had bandaged feet and sneakers on and was now relatively safely tucked into the chaise lounge on the back deck. The sun was doing it’s best to lull him into an exhausted sleep. Steve made sure he was far enough away that Bucky couldn’t hear the conversation, he hoped, but could still see Steve if he looked for him.

“In-between? What does that actually mean?” Sam sighed with a little frustration.

“You said it yourself, Sam, this is going to take time. Getting settled back into the world will take time and effort. It's doing just that. Taking time and effort.” Steve tried to turn the tables a bit.

“Come on Steve, you’re not holding up your end of this plan. I can hear how tired you are. I can hear your brain grinding through the pain.”

“My end of the plan? What am I not doing here? I’m the one living with him. I cook for him, clean up after him, I herd him to bed, from room to room, I’ve tried to get him to talk to me, talk about our history, our future. I had to literally supervise his shower today, supervise what he eats when he eats….” His voice trailed off as he heard his mounting desperation and realized he had just confirmed the point being made.

Sam answered slowly. “Steve, we had a plan, remember. You would start out with him. We would check in three times a day, I would come over after a few days and relieve you. Then Natasha would come over. Then both of us. Slowly bringing us in to help with socialization and his tolerance. Get you some back up if things didn’t go well.”

Steve didn’t even answer. He remembered, “Project Barnes” and the hours of planning. He didn’t want to believe they would actually have to implement the plan.

Sam tried again. “Listen, you haven’t answered a text in days. You’ve declined my calls. Nat told me about the text messages.”

“What text messages?” Steve couldn’t remember texting either of them the past week, or was it two weeks? He wasn’t keeping track of time.

“Well let’s see, she forwarded them to me. I’ll read a few.

Mail bandages, first aid kit is shitty.

Insomnia, send melatonin.

Password for internet? I forgot.

What does Отвянь mean?

The arm is whirring A LOT.

Think it’s broken?"

 

Steve didn’t recall any of those text messages. Although he did recall what the Russian phrase meant. “He told me to fuck off, in Russian.” He mumbled.

Steve sighed and resigned himself to telling the truth, at least something close to it.

“He isn’t sleeping, hasn’t slept since he got here,” Steve whispered. No need to confirm the rampant paranoia Bucky was already nurturing. “Sam, he doesn’t eat unless I tell him to eat. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard him vomit it up. There are the nightmares, horrible ones, screaming every night. I don’t know but sometimes I hear him talking and he’s not talking to me, just talking, like someone else is in the room with him.”

Steve paused to take a deep breath. “If he isn’t just staring at nothing, he’s angry and frustrated. He took a swing at me today.” He heard Sam take in a sharp breath. “It wasn’t real, Sam, it was a half-hearted effort. I don’t want to give up here, he deserves a better life, he deserves my support, I can’t walk away, what kind of friend would I be if I gave up?”

“No one is suggesting you give up, man. You’re right. He deserves better than what he’s been dealt, he deserves recovery, deserves friends and a life but you can’t do this alone. He’s so far gone into himself he can’t find his way out. He heard you before, in D.C. he heard you on the helicarrier so you know he’s in there, he’s fought his way back to you so far, no reason he can’t keep going but, and this is a big one. He’s so lost right now he can’t find his way on his own and you are not enough, not without losing yourself in the process, then you will be of no help to him at all.”

“Two pathetic super-soldiers lost together in the woods out behind that farmhouse of yours.” Sam tried to end it on a lighter note.

There was a long silence as Steve thought about what his friend offered. His eyes fell on Bucky, actually had never strayed far from him. The morning sun was glinting off the metal arm, curled around his chest as he lay on his side, head propped on a pillow, knees drawn up, a thin blanket over his legs. It seemed odd to Steve that Bucky was cold on such a sunny day but he gladly covered him just to offer some small gesture of comfort that would be accepted.

“So he hasn’t slept in three weeks, right? And you’re not sleeping either.” Sam launched in again.

“Three weeks? What do you mean, three weeks?” Steve protested.

“Steve, you said he hasn’t slept since he got there, that’s three weeks. Do the math.”

Silence again. Steve wasn’t aware it had been three weeks that they were home. He thought for sure it was a week, maybe two? Not three, no way.

“This isn’t good, man. Remember, Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs? The pillars of human psychological development require that the basic physiologic needs get met; food, water, sleep, shelter. Even super-soldiers need sleep, especially the ones with horrific torture, memory issues, and PTSD.”

For a second Steve thought “Who the hell is Maslow?” But then he recalled the pyramid on the Project Barnes display board at Natasha’s apartment. “Right. Maslow.” He thought maybe he hated the guy but now he was warming up to the theory.

Sam has been a good friend. Loyal and supportive despite his skepticism of the situation. He’d prepped Steve for the possibility that Bucky would unwind once he came out of cryo. They had talked for hours about PTSD, the nightmares, eating disorders, hallucinations, mood swings. The whole gamut of things that could surface before the healing could start. But no matter how much they had discussed the plan and prepared for this, Steve was overwhelmed by the reality of how fucked up Bucky really was right now. No. He shook his head to push away the thought that Bucky was “fucked up.” He was fucked over, bad. He remained a good man, a strong man facing nearly insurmountable odds but still standing and Steve was standing right there with him, no matter what.

Steve was only half listening when Sam’s next statement snapped his attention back on the phone. “Why don’t we come over, Nat and I. We can spend the night, take turns keeping an eye on him, talk to him, let you get some rest.”

“We can get through this. I don’t think he’ll do well with more people here. I don’t want him to know we’re talking honestly.” He didn’t want anyone to be witness to Bucky’s descent into the darkness. The first days at the house they talked and even laughed, they went running and cooked together but now he was vacant at the least, violent at the worst.

“No, Sam, really let’s wait a bit longer. I just needed to talk. I promise I’ll call again tonight and I will remember that pyramid guy and will ask for help.” He was anxious to hang up since he noticed Bucky stirring on the deck.

Steve won out. Sam conceded. No visit today.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The sun felt good, Bucky thought. Maybe, just maybe better than cold. He wanted to rest, wanted to talk to Steve, wanted the ghosts and voices to leave him alone. He wanted to move forward. He knew how to do that. He lay there in the sun and let the memory of the good missions float through his head. That time he took out the Italian Mafioso’s entire squad by himself. Hydra felt they were muscling in on their money sources and he was tasked with putting it to rest. Seven days of planning, endless hours on a roof waiting; rain, wind, day, night, 30 thugs armed to the teeth. He took them all down single-handed despite 3 bullet wounds.

He recalled the physical exertion of fighting wave after wave of opponents in the fighting pit when Hydra used him as entertainment for their investors. He started to recount all those impossible shots, even back to watching Captain America’s back during the war. He was an excellent sniper, a skill he was proud of. He knew he could persevere. There were so many times he did a good job, times they told him they were proud of him, times he was rewarded for his obedience and work as the Fist of Hydra.

Bucky didn’t think it was strange his heart ached beyond what he ever thought he could feel. That he felt life was so much better with Hydra in control. No decisions to be made beyond what weapon to use and when to take the shot. No feelings, no remorse, no emotions. Most of the time. He knew pain, raw unencumbered pain that tore the screams from deep within his soul. He knew the pain of beatings, humiliation, hunger, broken bones and wounds from combat; and punishment. He could understand if not appreciate all of that pain.

But nothing compared to the pain of his guilt. This feeling took his breath away. It twisted its psychic knife into his chest and ripped him inside out. The more he tried to move forward the more the past grabbed at his mind and body and dragged him back down into the darkness.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Rogers. What the hell is going on over there?” Natasha was calling now. Steve fumbled with the phone as he tried to talk to her without saying too much where Bucky could hear. “We’re good here.” Steve was on his way back into the house when she called. Bucky was still settled on the deck.

“We’re on our way. No more excuses. You are out of compliance with our plan and this ends now.”

“No. Nat, no visits. I appreciate it but ….”

“Oh, well, look at that. Too late.”

The doorbell rang.

“Damn it,” Steve muttered as he made his way to the front door. He didn’t really mean it. A feeling of relief washed over him when he saw Natasha and Sam standing on the front porch.

He opened the door. “Hey man, sorry, but let’s face it, she’s a force to be reckoned with when she wants something.” Sam offered as they carried in bags of groceries and made their way to the kitchen.

“Steve” Natasha drawled as she planted a kiss on his cheek. “You look like hell. What's the other guy look like?”

"He's clean." Steve offered with a shrug.

Natasha looked a bit wide-eyed and added. "Steve, that was a sarcastic rhetorical question."

 

The three friends engaged in easy conversation as they unpacked the bags; at least until Bucky walked into the kitchen. He froze in place, staring at them. The conversation stopped as they stared right back. As quickly as he arrived he was gone; out the deck doors, down the stairs, and around the house. Steve in hot pursuit.

Sam and Natasha didn’t follow. “Wow. He looks bad.” Sam shook his head.

“They both look bad.” Natasha frowned.

They heard the front door open and a shuffle of feet and someone went upstairs as Steve returned to the kitchen, looking exasperated and exhausted.

“He’s a little jumpy. Sorry.” Steve offered as he collapsed onto the kitchen bar stool.

Natasha responded with a single raised eyebrow, saying everything for both her and Sam.

“No worries, man, you remember us, right Barnes?” Sam offered loudly, assuming Bucky could still hear him. “We were on the same side in that airport fight. We kicked that spider kid’s butt. We’re all good now, right?”

 

Natasha poured some ice tea for the three of them and looked at Steve while gesturing up with a questioning look. Steve nodded, so she poured a glass and brought it upstairs and left it on the side table outside of the closed bedroom door. “Left you some iced tea out here, Barnes.” She said softly to the closed door. “Heading back downstairs now.” As she walked away with heavy footsteps so he could hear her leave.

“Look, Steve.” Sam offered, while the three of them settled around the kitchen island. “Nothing changes if nothing changes. You can’t keep this up and expect him to magically get better. It’s time to get back on track. We need to move on to Plan B.”

“Plan B? You mean counseling? Therapy? I’ve tried to talk to him about it. He is flat out refusing to even consider it. He just gets defensive and angry and walks away. I can’t make him do that, and honestly, I wouldn’t try to coerce him into it.” Steve sat with his arms folded on the island and his shoulders slumped. Looking more dejected than either of them had ever seen.

“You know, maybe he’s beyond making that choice. I hate to bring this up but maybe we go straight to Plan C after all.” Sam sat next to Steve and tried to keep his voice low and calm. Plan C was a really awful option. Involuntary commitment. Forcing Bucky into a locked psychiatric facility where he would be given treatment and medication against his will.

“Absolutely not.” Steve was firm, his slumped posture giving way to staunch resistance. “No way. I don’t care how bad he looks; I won’t force him to do anything. He’s already been through enough of that kind of shit.”

“Steve, if he isn’t safe if he hurts you, or someone else or himself because of his mental state, he could be locked away for a long time. Add to that his history as the Winter Soldier and he stands no chance of getting out. At least if he goes in with a short-term involuntary he could recover, get discharged, it would go in his favor.”

“How can you even suggest that after everything he’s been through? I know you want to help but I don’t accept that as an option.” He rose from the stool and paced the kitchen. “Did you even look at him? Did you see his face, his eyes? How scared he is? You aren’t hearing the screams, you aren’t watching him talk to no-one, and you aren’t hearing him vomit up what little food he actually gets down.”

They sat in silence. Sam looked at his tea. Natasha ventured a suggestion. “Steve, why don’t you get out of here for a while. We’ll stay here until you get back. Get out and clear your head. We can stay over tonight so you can sleep. I promise we’ll take care of him. No sudden moves, we’ll make sure he eats and has anything he needs.” She put a hand on his arm and looked up at him. “I promise.”

“I, I don’t know Nat, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Wait, who dreamed up The Project Barnes Offensive? You think I don’t have a vested interest in him? That both Sam and I don’t have skin in this game? Sam followed you as you chased Barnes for three years all over the world. He’s a fugitive from the Accords because of your devotion to Barnes. I, on the other hand, have personal reasons to want to see that man succeed.”

Steve gave her a questioning look.

“We have history.” Natasha's closed response, dismissing the conversation with a wave of her hand.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Buck, open the door, I need to talk to you.” Steve knocked on the bedroom door and waited. He noticed the iced tea was still on the table. The door slowly opened as Bucky peered out.

“Hey, I wanted to let you know I need to go out for a little while.” Bucky didn’t open the door wide enough to let Steve in. He briefly glanced at Steve and looked away, then nodded.

“Natasha and Sam are staying downstairs if you need anything. They’re going to make some lunch and will let you know when it’s ready. You should try to eat something.”

Steve leaned against the door frame. He handed Bucky the iced tea which wasn’t iced anymore. “Drink this. You haven’t had any fluids in hours.” He complied.

_"There you go Soldier, let him think you’re being obedient. Fool him into thinking he owns you. Let him think he’s your new handler."_

Steve walked away. He hoped it would all go as planned. He knew where he was going. Natasha wanted him to take a break, go relax somewhere. But his plan was to interview the team of medical and psychiatric providers that King T’Challa had provided. It was time to make the changes, even if he was unwilling to commit Bucky, at least he needed support for himself and help with knowing what to do next.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

"Barnes? You hungry? You must be hungry. I made some Chicken Kiev." Natasha sat on the floor outside the bedroom door. "I can leave it here but I'd rather give it to you. If I leave it on the floor the house will get ants and Steve will freak out. Can't have that."

Natasha's mind drifted back to the Red Room, to the stories the girls told at night, about the Winter Soldier, about kindness and love; all things that would not be spoken during the days in the Red Room. She needed to get him to eat. Needed to connect somehow. Not for Steve. For herself and for Barnes.

"Barnes? I'll eat some of it before you do, so you can feel safe about it. You pick the bites of food. You should eat.” She waited. The knob turned and the door opened enough so she could see him, sitting on the floor just beyond the opening, back to the wall. She turned to face him and slid the dish of food between them. They sat together on the floor, wordless and without eye contact and ate Chicken Kiev until it was gone.

 

 

 


	6. A Splintering Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky. His mental state is deteriorating fast. There are a lot of references to hallucinations, voices and suicidal ideation. Please be aware. Thank you to all who have stopped by.

Chapter 6

Steve got back that evening looking less stressed. The lines in his face and puffiness under his eyes still there but he wore an air of tired resolve that seemed appropriate. They ate the warmed up Chicken Kiev, Natasha made enough to supply them for a week, as Sam gave him the full Barnes Watch update:

On the plus side:

  * Opened the door when food was offered
  * Ate it and they didn’t hear any vomiting noises
  * Brief eye contact with Sam in the upstairs hallway
  * Used the bathroom appropriately
  * No violence or angry outbursts



On the minus side:

  * He only came out of his room to use the toilet
  * He didn’t speak to either of them
  * Natasha heard him speaking to someone in his room….in Russian.



“You eavesdropped on him?” Steve sounded incredulous.

“You bet we did.” Sam's unapologetic response.

“Guys, really, how could you? He’s so paranoid already.” Steve paused then, “What did he say?” 

Natasha sighed, “It was hard to make it out. I didn’t stand there long. The floorboards move and squeak so that’s a dead giveaway where we are in the house. He knows this.”

Steve and Sam stared with a clear expectation.

Natasha remained firm. 

They continued to stare. She debated sitting on the deck in the dark, then offered, ”He was apologizing. He said something about making it up to them, doing better, that he would make them happy.”

“Who? Make who happy?” Steve pushed. “Did he say a name, how’s he going to do better? Who was he apologizing to?”

“I don’t know. I thought about knocking on the door for clarification but there’s that paranoia thing." Natasha shot back.

“Wait. Does he have a phone in there? Could he be on a phone?” Sam voiced what none of them had thought about. “What if he has a phone and is talking to someone real?”

Their silence broke with one unified word, "Hydra.” 

Sam offered, “He’s apologizing. Like he failed something? A mission maybe? Steve, he failed a big mission of Hydra’s, namely killing you. Could all this stress have triggered him?”

Steve shook his head, Natasha remained noncommittal. 

Sam continued, “What if he isn’t having a mental breakdown, what if he was triggered somehow and is Wintering right here. What if he was Barnes but the stress pushed him into this alter-ego state and now he’s called them, what if he’s trying to finish the mission?” He rose to pace the kitchen.

Steve closed his eyes and tried to focus, searching the past three weeks, trying to find clues or keys or hope.

Natasha's gentle hand on Steve’s arm, “I heard what he was saying. I got the feeling when he was talking that he wasn’t talking to a real person.”

Steve resolved, “Let’s do this by the numbers. He doesn’t have a phone. There’s just the house cell phone here in the kitchen and my cell.”

“Can you say burner phone?” Sam interjected.

“How? He never leaves the house. I haven’t left the house before today. I get all the mail and open every package.”

“What about the tactical room? He could have used the computers or the burner phones in the go-bags?” Sam wouldn't let go.

Steve countered, “The burner phones are locked up," as he replayed his daily routine, the missed steps while watching Bucky. A rush of panic with the recollection of the frantic hour-long search for him a few days earlier that ended with discovering his curled body under the table in the tactical room. “Damn." 

Natasha resolved, “Well let’s go check the computer data. If he ordered something or contacted someone we should be able to find it. I doubt he has enough computer skills to erase his entire footprint if he logged onto the system," she rose to head to the tactical room.

Sam jumped up to follow her. Steve's move to tag behind them a reluctant buying into their theory. An internal resolution to prove Sam wrong even if this new theory tickled his own paranoia.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky heard their tramp down the basement stairs “Like lemmings” he thought and the kitchen grew quiet. He lay on the floor of his bedroom, head close to the open metal grate on the floor. The grate that opened to the kitchen, a smug smile crossed his face as he glanced down through the opening. A rasped monologue, "Old houses don't have heating ducts, they have open metal grates so heat rises up, like words, stupid words, hot air words. Heard it all, guys, blah, blah, blah."

“That Birdman wouldn’t figure it out." A scoffing wave of his hand, “And Steve is too damn trusting, especially of me.” Bucky mused. “Why would he trust me so much?” This thought opened a new wave of sadness to mingle with his baseline dread. “Then there is the Red Head. She really must be slipping.” He smirked, “She never even looked up, none of them did. They never caught on, just kept talking all day long.”

“ _Morons, Soldat. You've got them fooled._ ”

He reviewed everything he had learned by lying on the floor for the past eight hours, gathering intel. One of his best skills, next to killing. “That damn Birdman wants to lock me up in a nut house forever.” He put some energy into how he would break every bone in his body before yielding to a thought of Steve, “He'd be pissed if I did that.” Pleasing Steve remained paramount. A gut-wrenching question of how Steve kept defending him sent sweat across his body and anxiety to his tighten his chest.

_"Don’t get so cocky, Soldier. So what, you listened to their dumbass conversations all day. What did that get you? Nothing. Your target is still alive, idiot. Your work is not done."_

A hard shake of his head built on the constant tremors that took his coordination. Shaking hands dropping a fork or a spoon held him from eating, a conscious choice to hide the obvious, he avoided eating in front of Steve. The head shake reflecting deeper meanings, it came along with the Voice, a reflexive attempt to rid himself of its torment, stop the ridicule, trying to save himself. 

“The Red Head.” A defensive change in topic, “She didn’t talk about locking me up. Why?” She had been noncommittal. This piqued his interest for a moment but he settled on the obvious. “She’d just prefer to garrote me and be done with it. Then bury my body out back and then tell Steve I just ran off.” He squinted hard as he thought about how to maim her. Even the thought of Steve’s disapproval didn’t seem to deter this plotting.

Loose and tangential thoughts rolled across his mind, “Oh, and who the hell is Maslow and what kind of pyramid did he build? AND what does a pyramid have to do with sleep.” Bucky snorted before moving on,  “Wintering? What the fuck is that supposed to mean.”

_"SOLDIER! "_

Bucky’s internal dialogue quieted for a moment as the Voice demanded his attention.

” _Focus, you pathetic piece of shit. How dare you ignore me. You have a job to do."_

“I’m tired. Leave me alone." Bucky answered in his head.

_"Shut up and focus. Get the mission done and then you can sleep. You can sleep forever if you like. But for now Soldier, you will comply with the mission."_

It was getting harder to focus on anything for too long. Even the insistent Voice couldn’t hold his attention. The ghosts were becoming like old friends. Wait, not like old friends, that was Steve. The ghosts were his audience; spectators watching him perform, like the high priced crowds that cheered him on in Hydra’s pits. Screaming for him to spill some poor soul’s blood. Sometimes screaming to see his blood fall. Always screaming.

He drifted back to the three “Stooges” running downstairs to look for his “Digital footprint." He rasped out a laugh. Although he was pissed the Red Head so clearly doubted his computer skills that she thought she could track him easily. He took pride in knowing that he wouldn’t have been that sloppy to leave evidence of obtaining mission supplies even if it involved computers.

“глупая женщина” He said to his ghostly entourage. “The Red Head isn’t stupid but how could she not notice the grate right over them.” He returned to enjoying his subterfuge. But then again as he laid there reviewing the events of the day he had a slightly more coherent thought. “I have no idea what they’re talking about. I can barely find the bathroom never mind shop for a burner phone online." This was most definitely in Bucky’s own voice. “God. What a mess you are pal.” He closed his eyes and imagined standing over his wretched supine figure and looking down. “Really, Barnes. You are a complete disaster, try to get a grip for god’s sake.”

_"They’re catching on, soldier. Didn’t you just hear them? They are on to you. They realize you need to finish the mission. The time frame needs to be moved up. "_

“I have a time frame?” Bucky wondered curiously. Then his mind floated onto a new topic. How the Chicken Kiev tasted: Good. How it felt to puke it up quietly in the wastebasket: Bad.

_"Soldier, you are nearly at the end of your service. Your time is nearly done. Finish this mission."_

“Wonder if they’re finding my bare footprints down there?” He laughed a little hysterical laugh at his inside joke.

_"Soldat! STOP THIS! You belong to us, not to yourself. You are our tool, our asset, our weapon. FINISH THIS NOW!"_

“Finish WHAT?” Bucky bit back at the Voice.

 _"Kill him, Soldier. Kill the Captain. Finish the mission you abandoned in_ _Washington._ _Did you think you could walk away? Did you think we wouldn’t come for you? You will kill him. You will obey our commands. Then we will let you sleep forever if you wish."_

Bucky’s mind went quiet. His hoarse laughter cut short. “Oh. That mission.” His stomach rolled over.

_"Finish the mission, Soldier."_

“No.” He thought very quietly.

 _"Finish it, Soldier_."

“No.” He whispered.

_"DO IT. Soldat! You’re the asset, obey the command. There is only the mission."_

“NO.” He spoke firmly.

_"There is a price to pay for disobedience soldier. You will be punished without mercy."_

Bucky laughed bitterly. “Oh. Right. Ok. Pain. Your pain doesn’t scare me anymore.” He spit out the words with all the waning energy he possessed.

_"No, Soldier? Pain is no longer a tool? We’ll see about that, won’t we."_

And with that statement, a cramping fire began in his belly and rapidly spread to his groin. Stabbing, burning, wrenching pain. A cold sweat sprung up on his body, a pounding headache slammed him. He groaned loudly and rolled into a ball on his side as this punishment drove home the Voice’s point. He had waves of gut-wrenching nausea that ended in crippling dry heaves. He had nothing to puke up anymore except his intestines.

Complex or even coherent thought was a luxury that was lost on Bucky these past few weeks. His world had spiraled down to a very narrow and warped view. The Voice in his head, supported by the ghosts, ruled all thought and emotion. When it said he would be punished and the pain started it only made sense that the Voice was making good on its promise of punishment.

Between the waves of cramping sweats, he tried to recall what had happened in the last few hours. He had eaten the food the Red Head had supplied, maybe it was poisoned after all. That’s why he puked it up, just to be sure. Pity. It tasted good and sat in his belly nicely. But she was not to be trusted no matter what, so up it came.

When he felt dizzy and faint he ate the food he had hidden under the bed. Small bites, just enough to fuel basic functions. He knew how to survive long missions without resources. Old or spoiled food was never an issue in the past. The serum took care of that. He’d eaten a whole lot worse than spoiled food that time in Yulin, China. That memory brought on a new wave of crippling nausea and sweats.

Eating crap to fulfill energy needs was normal behavior for the asset and he never suffered any real setbacks because of it. Even the times he had actually been poisoned he barely noticed it. So it never crossed his mind now that he might actually be sick. Now his body was doing a pretty damn good job of educating him about the dangers of food gone bad.

“Fuuuccck.” Was all he could utter as the pain in his belly curled him into the fetal position on the floor. He was moaning as quietly as he could, angry at himself for even allowing that weakness. But it hurt so damn bad, nearly as bad as what Hydra had done to him in the past.

“Really? Are you sure about that, Barnes?” His alter ego standing over his writhing body on the floor was talking to him now.

“Damn. Yet another opinion.” He mumbled.

Tears began to fall against his will. He just couldn’t stop them.

“Crying now, Barnes?” Standing Barnes chided his body on the floor.

“Poor baby. Maybe that serum is wearing out. Maybe this will kill you after all.”

“Good. I hope it does kill me.” Bucky hissed at himself as he shook through the pain. “I don’t give a shit. I’d be glad to be dead, about fucking time!” He rasped through clenched teeth.

_"Not until you’re done, asset. No dying until you’re done. We can take you to the doors of hell and back again over and over to make our point. You remember this, don’t you? You remember being broken. We never let you end your suffering then but now, Soldier, we will let you go, once you finish your job."_

His face was wet with tears, sweat, and vomit. His legs were cramping from the loss of what little water he had in his system. He tried desperately to dissociate from the pain. He’d done that so many times before to survive but his head was so disorganized now it was nearly impossible to wall off the pain into a neat little box he could ignore. So he steeled himself and rode it out like he rode out the fall from the train. A long terrified scream as he waited to hit the ground.

_"What do you want Soldier?"_

_"Soldat. What do you want?"_

Well, that was an odd question coming from the Voice. He couldn’t recall anyone with Hydra or any of his handlers ever asking him what he wanted. The asset doesn’t want anything. Doesn’t feel anything. Doesn’t desire, wish or hope. What kind of trick was this? He knew about their games.

“What?” Bucky dared to ask.

_"What do you want? What would help you finish your work?"_

Bucky knew right away what he wanted, so he answered since the Voice had asked.

“I’m tired. I don’t want the pain. I wanna be done. I want to be done with it all.”

For a moment a feeling of calm came over him. Maybe the Voice will release him.

_"We can help with that if you complete your work. One more step is all it will take. Then I will go away, the ghosts will go away, the pain will fade. Howard and Maria will rest and Stark will be satisfied. One small push here at the end."_

He remembered the endless torture as Hydra made him. The physical pain was a given as they worked on him like he was an object. It was the psychological pain that won out in the end. All of it was relentless but the creative and cruel part was the give and take. Hurt then comfort. Pain then a promise of rest if only he was “Good.”

The endless cycle only let up when he agreed. When he said, “I’ll do whatever you want.” Now, as he writhed in pain, as the Voice and the ghosts engulfed his every fiber, he knew what to do, knew what to say. He could feel his mind give way to the answer.

_"That’s it, Soldier. Give us what we want. Give us your obedience. Give us the death we want. Give us the Captain. Then you can rest, you can sleep. Forever if you like. All your suffering will end. Finish it Soldat."_

Bucky closed his eyes tight. Resolve filling him. “You can do this Barnes. One last time and you’ll be free.” He breathed out his answer to the Voice’s commands. “Alright. You win. готов к выполнению.” He translated his assent for Standing Barnes and the ghosts that surrounded him. "Ready to comply.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“So all the burn phones are accounted for. The computers are clean. I can’t find a single piece of data that indicates he was online or communicated to anyone.” Natasha finally concluded as she dropped herself into one of the chairs in the tactical room and laid her head on the table in exhaustion.

“So that leaves us with what? Is he seeing things? He’s going crazy?” Steve leaned his hands on the table and shook his head.

“It isn’t uncommon for stress, PTSD to cause people to have hallucinations especially if they’re under prolonged stress.” Sam offered a more clinical assessment than crazy as he searched through the random papers left on the counter in front of the computer screens.

Steve didn’t say anything more for a long time; then abruptly left the room.

Sam and Natasha exchanged a knowing look. Natasha followed Steve upstairs while Sam kept exploring the room. “There have to be clues here.” He was sure that Barnes had done more than just sleep under the table down there. He had to be up to something, not just napping. It didn’t make sense. So he kept digging. The papers were a dead end. All of the containers and cabinets were empty. There wasn’t even evidence of anyone using the whiteboard, no ghosting of words or numbers. The locked cabinets had no evidence of tampering; no scratch marks, no paint missing.

He finally resolved that his suspicions were getting him nowhere, at least in this space. As he headed out, he ran his hand down the whiteboard horizontally, absent-mindedly, when the board moved slightly. “Huh? What the hell?” He applied a little more pressure and pushed, only to find it was detached from the wall.

He maneuvered it down. "Here we go Barnes, you little shit, you.” Beneath the whiteboard, the plaster wall was cluttered with maps, stickie notes, and drawings. Scrawled over the maps were names, dates, and numbers. The handwriting was shaky and random, there were scribbled figures, repetitive phrases. Much of it was written in what appeared to be Cyrillic.

“So this is what you’ve been up to.” Sam felt vindicated, sort of. It wasn’t proof positive that Barnes was channeling the Winter Soldier or that he was colluding with some unknown handler, but it certainly showed that Barnes was working on something. Sam was sure it was sinister. Just to be safe he took pictures of everything and put the board back in place. Then headed upstairs to try and convince Steve that his friend was not to be trusted.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Bucky, you ok in there?” Steve was knocking on the bathroom door. “Hey buddy, I heard you vomiting. Sounds bad, just wanna know you’re OK. How ‘bout you open the door?” Steve was trying to sound calm. “Come on, buddy, open the door.” Steve had already tried to open it, but it was locked. “Bucky, come on, open it up, I don’t want to break the door, I’m worried about you. You’re puking a lot.” Steve was leaning his head against the door as he spoke.

The cramping had sent very disturbing signals to Bucky’s gut that clearly advised his brain he needed to get to the bathroom fast. He had crawled to the bedroom door, yanked it open, and stumbled awkwardly forward into the bathroom ending with a kick to the door to shut it as he sprawled on the floor. What happened next was not pretty.

Natasha came up the stairs to join Steve. “Is he sick? Is that even possible with the serum?” She wondered as she leaned one shoulder against the wall. She studied Steve’s technique on how to persuade open a door.

“Bucky, come on, open up. I just want to help you. Please open the door. I don’t want to break the door, but I’m going to break down the door if you don’t unlock it so please open it up.”

Steve reluctantly stepped back and braced his shoulder to force his way in.

Natasha stepped in front of him, holding up a lockpick. “Subtle is still an option.” She applied her tool to the lock and swung the door open.

It was definitely not pretty. The smell was astounding. The floor was disgusting. It was the unmistakable food poisoning aftermath that most non-super soldiers have experienced at some point in their lifetime. And Bucky was sitting in the middle of it all.

Steve closed his eyes, sighed for what felt like the 100th time that day, took a deep breath and waded into the mess. The door closed behind him, leaving Natasha, a grateful Natasha, in the hallway. She decided to find something helpful to do, so she went to Barnes’s room and flipped on the light. It wasn’t much better than the scene in the bathroom. She rolled up her sleeves and started to clean.

It was nearly 2 AM when they converged in the hall outside of the upstairs bathroom. Bucky was soaking in the tub, his bed was stripped, all food was removed, the windows open to air the place out and the door shut and locked to prevent him from nesting back in there. The bathroom floor, walls, and fixtures were clean and awaiting the final wipe down once he was trundled off to a bed.

Sam had found latex gloves and had taken on laundry duty. They were doing the final wipe down of the hall floor and walls when Sam glanced at Natasha and quipped “You know, I never thought I would say this but, I kinda miss the Winter Soldier. He was scary as shit but at least he didn’t puke his guts up all over the place.”

Natasha stopped mopping and just stared at him. A few red curls hanging in her eyes.

Steve grimaced at the comment but kept wiping the door frame.

Sam grabbed a rag and started wiping down the stair rails. He persisted. “Steve, I think you really need to consider the possibility that Barnes is more the Soldier than you give him credit for.”

“Sam, do we really need to do this right now?” 

“Yea, I think we do. If he is more the Soldier than he is Barnes. If his conditioning is deeper than we realize. Your life is at risk. All of us are at risk. He could kill any one of us in our sleep. So yeah, I think it is a point that needs discussion tonight.” Sam was on his way to telling Steve about his discovery in the tactical room.

“Enough.” Steve stopped cleaning and shot him an angry look. “He’s sitting right there. He can hear you talking about him. Show him some respect.”

“Well it’s better he hears what we have to say than talk about him behind his back.” Sam shot right back.

“Fine. So you want to accuse him of being the Soldier? Go ahead. Go in there and say it to his face. Go tell him you don’t trust him. You think he’s going to kill us. Look at him Sam. Does he look threatening to you? Does he look like the Soldier now?” Steve stepped aside enough to give Sam a full view of Bucky, emaciated, head bowed, sitting in the tub. He did look pathetic, even to Sam’s skeptical eye.

“Besides, you said it, you’ve been saying it, Sam. He’s sick. Mentally and now physically. So now you’re saying he’s the Soldier? Is he going to kill us? Which is it?” Steve turned to face Sam head on.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Steve. I just think you should consider all options. He’s not exactly talking to us, he’s isolated, angry. That certainly fits his profile as the Soldier.”

“Yeah, and it also fits the profile of someone who is depressed and psychotic.” Steve had been doing his homework about mental illness. He was piecing it together.

Sam and Steve were standing closer now, facing off, like two bulls in a small field. Sam knew he was taking a chance challenging Steve’s loyalty to Barnes. Sam had been a dedicated friend for the past few years but he was beginning to understand the complete and utter blind devotion Steve felt towards Bucky. He was starting to realize he couldn’t compete. Steve would choose Bucky now and always. No matter what it cost him.

“Could you two please grow up. This is not helpful to anyone. We’re tired, filthy and frankly, I think we’re all depressed right now so let’s get this done and get some rest.” Natasha was trying to be the voice of reason. 

Steve and Sam went back to work in silence.

Sam blurted out, “I dunno, which one do you prefer, Nat? Winter Barnes or Floridly Psychotic Barnes?”

Natasha didn’t answer.

“Enough! Sam.” Steve barked with so much anger Bucky shuddered and even Natasha startled. “Stop it, Sam just stop it.”

“I’m just joking, man. Just trying to release the stress.”

“Then don’t do it at his expense. He’s sick. Leave him alone.” Steve again faced Sam.

Sam had a flare of his own anger. They had spent the last 14 hours care-taking a grown man who may or may not be about to kill them all. He was tired, irritated, frustrated and feeling helpless. A too familiar feeling. Sam couldn't help but think about Riley and how he lost him. How helpless he felt. Maybe watching Steve go through this was affecting him more than he wanted to acknowledge.

“Ok boys, time for a break.” Natasha stepped between them. “You. Rogers. Downstairs and outside on the deck. It’s a beautiful night and you need some fresh air.” She turned to Sam. “You need to go to the basement shower and don’t use all the hot water because I am in there next.”

Steve started to protest but she cut him off as only she can stop a conversation.

“I will finish up here with Barnes.”

“GO. Both of you. No speaking. No fighting. Go away.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

It really was a beautiful night. The house was far enough in the country that city lights didn’t muddle the night sky. Thousands of stars were dancing overhead; the air was cool and crisp. The night was full of sounds, crickets, and frogs; leaves rustling in the breeze, the high pitched tinkling of the wind chime Nat had hung on the deck. He watched how the breeze rustled the tall grass in the fields just beyond the house. It was peaceful.

Steve thought “Bucky would love this.” He caught himself. It was as if Bucky was gone again. They were living right there together and yet he wasn’t there at all. The night sky filled his thoughts and made him feel small. Like his life was just a small part of the universe and he didn’t have to carry it all by himself. He had help. He would ask for help. He would help Bucky save himself. He resolved that one night soon he and Bucky would lie out there in the field, watching the night sky and talk about dreams and the future together.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky was lying in Steve’s bed curled on his side, facing Steve. It felt good to be there. No voices, no ghosts, no mission. Just staring at Steve. Comforting and safe.

Steve opened his eyes. “Hiya.” He whispered. “You OK?”

Bucky nodded.

“Can’t sleep?”

Bucky shrugged. “Slept a little.” He whispered. They lay there quietly for a while. “Sam’s right ya know. I could hurt you. I could kill you. I might kill you. And them.”

“No. Buck. I don’t believe that.” Steve whispered.

“I. It’s. I’m not ok, ya know. I can’t think straight anymore.”

“I know. I get it. We need to get some help for you, for us. There’s no shame in needing help. But let’s not get into now. Just rest now." Steve reached unconsciously to brush the hair from Bucky’s face.

Bucky closed his eyes to hold onto that moment. Steve’s touch on his face. Quick and tender. He wanted to remember that touch.

Bucky wanted to tell Steve about the Voice. About Howard and Maria. About the army of ghosts that haunted him. But he knew it would upset him. He knew that Steve would agree with Sam and put him away forever if he told him about the ghosts and the Voice. If he admitted to being crazy, that would just mean Sam was right and he needed to be locked away. Bucky kind of agreed with Sam. But he didn’t want to lose Steve, not yet, so he didn’t say anything.

They lay there for a while, silently, looking at one another.

“Steve? Will you hold me?” Bucky’s voice was small, barely a whisper.

Steve wasn’t quite sure he heard him. “What? I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”

Bucky lay there watching him for a moment longer, then rolled over away from Steve. It was too much to ask again, too painful to chance the rejection. He had no more energy for pain.

Steve watched him roll away, the question hanging there unanswered. The replayed words finally registered and he chided himself for nearly missing the very invitation he had been hoping for. Bucky had opened the door to being touched.

He carefully moved closer to him. One arm slipped around his shoulder to rest on the metal arm. His other arm tucked around his waist, he pulled him in tight against his chest. Their breathing fell slowly into a rhythm. He buried his face in the back of his neck and let the smell of his skin fill him.

“Don’t let go of me, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

“I got you, pal. I won’t let go. I won’t ever let go.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

Bucky slept fitfully but it was more sleep than he’d had in weeks. Each time he woke, Steve was there. Holding him. It felt good. It kept the ghosts away. It quieted the Voice. He was going to miss this closeness when it was all over. “Too bad we didn’t get this close more often. I like this.” He thought as he drifted off to sleep again.

Bucky was dreaming about Steve. They were lying on a bed in a field of tall grass, watching one another. He could feel the sunlight on his bare skin; could see how it painted warm tones on Steve’s body. Bucky reached out to touch his face; he slowly ran his fingers across his cheek, slipped his thumb across his lips, and fingered his neck, exploring every curve and slope. He felt the softness of his flesh, let his fingers rest on his pulse. He vaguely noticed his arm was flesh, not metal.

Steve smiled. Bucky moved forward slowly to bring his lips to meet Steve’s. The kiss, their first, gentle, soft and everything Bucky hoped it would be.

He kissed him back.

Steve reached to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair. His hand slowly began to caress his body; moving down his shoulder, his arm, and then lingered on his hip. Bucky’s own hand was pressed against Steve’s chest. He could feel the firm muscles and softness of his skin. He felt Steve run his thumb across his belly, then slip his hand around his waist to caress his ass and pull his hips closer to press against his own. Their kisses deepened. Bucky licked and pressed his tongue into Steve’s mouth. He could feel the subtle pressure of Steve’s cock meeting his own. 

This was everything Bucky wanted and had never gone after.

“At least I can have this in my dreams.” The thought breezed through his mind like a cold wind.

“I’m dreaming? Shit.” 

The grassy field, sunlight and warm embrace slowly faded away as his consciousness returned. He lay there in the real bed, eyes closed, clothes on, sensing the emptiness around him. Steve was gone. At least he wasn’t holding Bucky the way they had slept through the night.  

He thought he felt him still in the bed so he slowly opened his eyes. Expecting Steve.

But the body in the bed was Maria Stark.

Blood on her head. Glassy eyes fixed only on him. Her neck was mottled and swollen with bruises shaped like fingerprints. His fingerprints.

He tried to get up, push away from her but nothing moved. He felt his body held down as it felt when he was in restraints, pressure across his chest, choking his breath. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He struggled to scream or talk, tried to call Steve’s name. But only a pathetic whimper passed his lips.

Tears slipped down his cheeks as his mind desperately tried to escape this apparition but she had him, restrained and captive. There was no escape from her vengeance. He was about to pay the price for his crimes. There was no more avoiding it. No more time with Steve. That filled him with regret.

He wondered for a moment what her plan was to destroy him when she moved. Her hand slowly rose to point at him. A thin finger came towards his face. He struggled in vain to back away, move his head, call for help, anything to get away from this assault.

Just as the tip of her finger approached his forehead, she spoke.

“I used to kiss my son on his forehead every night before bed.”

Bucky began sobbing.

"It was our moment together.”

Waves of tremors took him.

“You took that from me. You stole my son from me.”

He tried desperately to close his eyes but she even controlled that simple escape.

“You took everything from me. Now you will lose something you love.”

He tried so hard to say no; please, no. But nothing came out. Nothing but his sobs.

She would show him no mercy, just the way he never showed mercy to his victims as the Soldier. It was time to pay the price.

Her finger moved slowly, methodically towards his forehead. He couldn’t escape its progression. He was fully expecting it to burn when she touched him. Or freeze or somehow cause pain. That was the currency he best understood. Pain. But when her finger connected with his skin there was no pain, only horror as it passed through his skin and pressed deeper and deeper into his brain. On it went through his head, fire seared through every fiber of his nerves. His vision went blinding white, as he felt her finger twist and turn inside his head. He heard himself screaming as if he was in another room listening to someone else’s torture. His body began to shake violently, tensing and jerking without control as she torn his brain apart with her fingers all while he lay there captive by her gaze.

Maria’s fingers finally wrapped around his cervical spine and dug into his bones. She pulled him slowly forward as his hysterical sobs played in his ears. She pulled him closer and closer until her lips were close to his head. Then she kissed him on the forehead.

“I used to kiss my son just, like, this.” She stated with no particular emotion.

The contact was a thousand times worse than the brain wipes in the chair. White hot, electric heat seared through his brain, sending his body into more violent tremors. As she completed her kiss she laughed and threw him backward away from her with more strength than even the Soldier could perform. His body was thrown from the bed, slammed into the wall and slid to the floor. And she was gone.

 

Steve ran to the bedroom when he heard Bucky scream. As he took the stairs three at a time he heard a loud crash and a thud. He grabbed the door frame to slow his motion. He found Bucky on the floor in a full-on grand mal seizure. Steve frantically pushed the bed aside and grabbed the teetering lamp on the table near where Bucky was thrashing. He cleared the area of anything that could fall on him. Steve dropped to his knees next to his friend and kept telling him “You'll be OK. I’m here, hang in, it’ll pass, it’ll be over soon.” He hoped it would be over soon.

The shaking slowly subsided and Bucky finally went limp. Steve grabbed a pillow to put under his head and turned him on his side. He remembered how his mom had taught him about caring for people who had seizures. It gave him something concrete to do instead of sobbing along with Bucky. Steve knelt between him and the wall, stroking his hair while he tried to calm his own terror at what he just witnessed.

“It’s time.” He told himself. “I can't ignore this any longer, it isn’t getting better. I’m going to lose him if I don’t do something to help him.” Steve made up his mind. He would call the medical team and tell them it was time for an intervention. King T’Challa had given him the names of medical and psychiatric providers that could help if needed. Bucky had categorically said no and so far, Steve had respected his choice. But now it was clear Bucky couldn’t take care of himself any longer. He wasn’t capable of thinking clearly. He was a danger to himself. Maybe a danger to others. Steve’s heart was breaking as he made the decision to intervene even if it meant Bucky ended up hating him. Better he hated him while still alive than Steve love him after he’s dead.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Sam got back to his apartment and flopped face first on his bed. “This is fucking exhausting.” He complained to himself. “What the hell is Steve thinking. Barnes is psychotic at best, completely brainwashed at the worst. There’s no coming back from this.” Sam was normally not this negative especially when it came to veterans. He believed in them. Believed in their resilience. But Barnes was different. The torture was horrific, prolonged and profound. Some damage can’t be undone. Besides, Barnes was an asshole. Sam was sure of it. Maybe the best they could hope for was a nice, safe long-term psych facility that could contain him and still let Steve visit on Sundays.

Sam rolled over and forced himself to get up, shower and change clothes. He had decided that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Steve even if he wouldn’t listen to him. Even if Steve was blindly devoted to Barnes to a fault, Sam had a plan. While Steve and Natasha were busy babysitting Barnes, Sam had activated the house’s security cameras and programmed the feed so he could access it from his laptop. Live. He could watch and listen to everything in the house. He could spy on Barnes. It was time to set it up and get to work proving to Steve that Barnes was up to no good.

Sam didn’t see the seizures or hear the sobbing. He sat in his kitchen with lunch and had wondered to himself why he disliked Barnes so much. “He’s a fucking victim, why am I having such a hard time with supporting him?” He was trying to be honest with himself. He respected Steve, admired him and felt he was his closet friend. He didn’t understand why Steve was so obsessed with Barnes. They chased him all over the world for three years, and the man never even said thank you when they saved his sorry ungrateful ass from Hydra, Pierce, the CIA, Interpol, Ross, and Stark, just to name a few. Sam was pissed at him, that was clear.

But this irrational anger towards Barnes still didn’t make a lot of sense, he knew how depression worked, how PTSD worked, gratitude wasn’t the first step in recovery. Sam felt bad about how he had acted after the food poisoning events. “That was stupid, immature and what the hell was I thinking.” The realization of what drove his bad behavior rolled over him, he was jealous. He had been a good friend to Steve, would follow him to the ends of the earth and Steve only had eyes for Barnes. “Dumbass.” He chided himself. “Barnes is a train wreck, why be jealous of him?" It wasn't a sexual thing he was sure of that, it was a friendship thing.

Sam shook himself out of his musings and finished lunch so he could get to work building a case against that idiot Barnes.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Natasha didn’t cry much. She took her pain and feelings and tucked them away, like a good little girl from the Red Room. As Steve’s friend, she hurt for him. As a soldier herself, she was scared of what was happening to Barnes. This could have been her, may still someday be her; she could unravel the same way he was coming apart. “There but for the grace of God go I.” the saying ran through her head, she was uncertain where she heard it but it seemed fitting.

Her connection to Barnes was private. Even he didn’t seem to recall her. It was easy to lock it away from everyone, especially Barnes. But it informed her every thought when it came to “Project Barnes” he had to be saved somehow.

She was tired when she got back to her place, but with everything that happened, sleep was not an option, so she put on her best leathers and got on her bike to find solace and comfort in the speed.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky woke slowly from the seizures, groggy and confused. His body felt heavy, drool was pooled on the pillow under his head. He barely noticed. His mind was numb, empty. It felt very very familiar. The emptiness surrounded his only clear thought.

 _"Finish the mission_."

He knew what he needed to do now. He just had to gather enough strength to carry it out…then it would all be over, finally. An end in sight.

Steve saw that he was waking up, “Hey buddy, take it easy, that was a bad seizure, it lasted a good 5 minutes.” He had a wet facecloth and was wiping Bucky’s face and trying to cool the back of his neck as he sat cross-legged next to him.

Bucky tried to push himself up to sit but dropped back down.

“Go easy, you should just rest here a bit. We got nowhere to go.” The worry in Steve’s voice was clear.

Bucky, the Soldier, lay still obediently and gathered his strength. He wasn’t thinking about anything special, the Voice was quiet, the ghosts were nowhere to be seen. He could hear the words the man Steve was saying. He knew him. No matter. There was only the mission and for whatever reason, he was too weak to accomplish it but he was getting stronger with each passing minute and soon, very soon he would be ready.

The Soldier closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He took an account of his body. Tried to assess his functionality. He moved his legs slightly to test if he could move, lifted his knees quietly to test for restraints: there were none. He moved the metal arm, flexing the fingers and shifting the plates subtly so as not to alarm the target. He moved his head on the pillow and tested if he would have his balance when the time was right. He could hear the man behind him, talking about something….he wasn’t sure what he was saying it didn’t matter as long as he kept babbling on, he wouldn’t be suspicious as the Soldier reached his ready state.

He made his final assessment of the situation. He was as functional as he could manage, the target was in a low compromised position on the floor, he was talking and off balance, so the Soldier had the element of surprise. He told himself it was “go time” and braced to roll to his knees and swing full force at the man when something happened.

The man kneeling over him, bent to leave a kiss on his head, warm wetness dropped on his face, tears welling up from the eyes that looked down at him,  a distant hazy voice, “Bucky? Are you with me?”

“What the fuck?” A startling thought as his target stroked his head, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Buck, please come back to me.” The man whispered close.

“I’m right here asshole. What’s with the crying?” Bucky snarked inside his head.

The Soldier hesitated. The time to finish the mission ticked by, distracted by the man’s words, his tears, and that other version of himself that began to fade away.

“I feel like shit, pal I ain't got much left, Steve. I’m coming to an end.” Bucky's unspoken confession. 

Steve dragged a hand across Bucky's forehead, “I am so sorry but I have to call for help. I have to call the medical team. I’m afraid you’re dying. I can't lose you even if you hate me for this.” 

”Pal, I AM dying. It’s the only way. It’s you or me and I already made that choice, you idiot. You ain't gonna die today if I can help it.” Bucky carried on his end of the conversation with all sincerity except it stayed in his head as he lay there on the floor, not moving, not blinking, faint and ragged breaths. As Bucky faded away, the Soldier began to build strength, enough strength to make one last stand. Take out Captain America and then he could die himself. A fitting end.

Steve's desperate fear grew as he watched the light fade in Bucky’s eyes. The seizures were bad, a convincing sign that the serum wasn’t going to save him, beaten by malnutrition, lack of sleep, the guilt that haunted him, something had to be done. 

“I have to get the phone buddy, I don’t want to leave you but I can’t just sit here and watch you die. I’ll be right back, I promise, don’t move." Steve kissed his head one more time and jumped up and ran down the stairs.

“NO. Steve, don’t leave me, please. You said you wouldn’t let go." Only Bucky could hear his own words and without Steve holding onto him, the Voice would come back and with it, the Soldier would gain that final push of strength he would need to rise up.

 

Steve ran downstairs and grabbed the phone. He hadn’t programmed in the psychiatrist’s number and had meant to put the medical team’s number on speed dial. He had just met both of them the day before. He had to hunt for the phone, then the numbers. Just as he started to dial the world went dark.

He felt himself being dragged by his right arm across the living room floor. His head pounding. He could feel a metal hand crushing his wrist.

“Shit. Sam was right.” The first thought that entered his head. Then, “What the hell is he doing?”

He blinked hard to get his bearings and rolled over, his reach to grab at Bucky’s leg knocked him down to his knees.

Steve scrambled to pin him onto his stomach.

He still had Steve’s hand trapped. Bucky twisted and rolled as he fell forward, landing on his back and grabbed Steve by the throat with his flesh hand. The metal one still held tight as Steve felt the searing jolt of pain as it snapped with the torque of the roll.

_"Very good Soldier. You’re almost there. Almost done now. Just kill him, finish him off. Then you get your reward. You get to sleep again."_

The Voice's tone soothing, encouraging him to get the job done. He listened as it kept offering its approval. This was how they worked, how Hydra worked. Hurt, then praise; hurt, then praise; sometimes an apology after a particularly brutal hurt. Never an end.

Bucky’s own voice stayed quiet in his head. He moved as the Soldier, listened as the Soldier but his own self, getting smaller and weaker, stayed quiet. But he was still there, working on his own end game. He had to hide in his head until the time was right if his plan was to work at all. Oh, he’d be free alright. Not the Voice’s kind of freedom. That was a lie; a ploy to get him to keep going. He committed to his own freedom from Hydra, from the Voice, from the ghosts; even if it meant leaving Steve, even if it meant his own death. He couldn’t bear being a threat to Steve any longer.

”Bucky stop it, stop it! It’s me, Steve. I know you don’t want to do this. Buck!”

Steve grabbed the flesh fingers.

Bucky dragged them both to their feet to toss Steve backward across the living room, crashing into the wall near the front door. He stalked forward.

Steve dizzy with the pain and shock of how this was going. How strong Bucky seemed when a few minutes earlier he could barely move. Steve had an irrelevant thought, "Adrenalin.”

Steve begged as Bucky came closer, "Please Buck I know you’re in there, I know you recognize me. Don’t give up. I will never let you go.”

The Soldier's prowling menace kept coming, metal hand on his throat, pinning him against the wall, pressing hard against him. Hot panting breath on his cheek, hair brushing against his lips. “Fuck, this is it.” Steve thought. “This is where he kills me.”

A beat went by then, "Get out of here, Steve, get out, now.” Bucky’s voice sandpaper, low and torn. So close Steve couldn’t even see his eyes or read his expression.

Steve gritted, “No. I won't leave you.”

“Get out of here asshole. I’m, I will kill you.”   “ GET OUTTA HERE NOW." He screamed.

“No! I told you, I won't let go. I won't leave."

Bucky growled. A guttural agonizing sound. He pulled Steve away from the wall and threw him against the front door. The reinforced glass cracked.

Steve braced for another onslaught as the Soldier came at him again. But when he reached this time he grabbed the doorknob instead of Steve. The deadbolt held but the door frame didn’t. Steve found himself flat on his back in the dirt at the foot of the stairs, Bucky's desperate words ringing in his head,  “RUN Steve. Just RUN.” The door slammed behind him. His head fell back to the ground, blue sky and clouds swimming in a circling swirl of dizziness, he let a heartbeat pass planning his next move. 

Wood and glass tearing across flooring as the door swung open pulled him from his lost moment,  "Shit, I should’ve run." A half-hearted attempt to get up stopped by the thump of his cell phone and the truck keys as they landed next to him. No sign of Bucky when his eyes refocused, he grabbed the tossed items and rolled to his feet. His right wrist swollen and blue, aching from the break. He took a step, then a second towards the house when the phone rang.

It was Sam.

“I saw it all. Get the fuck out of there NOW. He can’t hear you, Steve.”

“Sam, How did you know? I’m sorry. I didn’t believe you. But I can’t just leave him.”

"Yes you CAN!” shouted Sam. "You’re no good to him dead and right now he’s going to kill you if you stay. He told you that, man.”

Steve stumbled forward, struggling to speak or think.

“Steve, listen to me, please, just drive off, so what if he wrecks the house. It’s all replaceable. You’re not. We’ll get help, we’ll do the intervention like you wanted. We just need help to subdue him. We won't’ hurt him. Just get him corralled, get him someplace safe. Drive away now. He told you to leave, he doesn’t want you there.”

“Alright, Sam, alright I’m leaving. I’ll be at your place in an hour. Can you let Natasha know? Not to come over here. I mean, she’ll want to know, he lost --- he’s not doing well.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call her just get in the truck now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> глупая женщина stupid woman


	7. REAPER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a detailed suicide attempt/gesture. Please take care.  
> Natasha is speaking in Russian. I used < > to indicate what dialogue is in Russian.

 

Bucky watched from behind the front door once he tossed the phone and keys at Steve. He had to be sure that he left. “Idiot, I nearly killed him, twice, at least, and he still just stands there.” Bucky allowed his own thoughts to drift through his cluttered mind. He was almost done. Any second now the Voice would catch on and rage; the ghosts would come for him, but he felt lighter just knowing the decision was made: Steve would be safe and the Soldier and Bucky would be gone. The end was in sight.

Steve slowly walked to the truck. He paused at the door and looked back.

“That’s it, pal, get in the truck. No, don’t look back, damn it. Just drive off.”

Bucky heard the engine turn over.

“Good.”

Steve backed out of the driveway.

“Keep going.”

Steve slowly pulled away.

“And done.”

He stared at him for a moment, spending a few seconds on regrets; he never told him how he felt about him. Never kissed him; for real. Never thanked him for saving his sorry ass from Hydra.

“Too late now." He mumbled.

“Hopefully he’ll find the intel in the tactical room and the note in the sketch pad.” He briefly imagined the look on Steve’s face when he finds the page that Bucky wrote on. He hoped he wouldn’t be angry or disgusted with him. All it said was:

“I should have told you before now.

                                      I loved you since the beginning of time.

                                                                      It was better to die than hurt you again.                   Forgive me.          Bucky."

 

With resolve, Bucky turned to face his demons.

_"What the fuck are you doing, Soldier?_

_This was not the plan, you piece of shit!_

_Go after him, there’s a bike in the barn, go after him, NOW……_

_You think you’ll rest after this, Soldier, you think you can cross us. You haven’t learned a thing have you?"_

Bucky ignored the Voice. He walked slowly towards the kitchen as the ghosts of all those he had killed descended on him. They clamored for his attention; for retribution, for revenge.

“ _You don’t deserve to live. You ended our lives. You don’t get to be happy and live forever with your fucking boyfriend.”_

Bucky couldn’t agree more.

Exhaustion, self-loathing and his desire to protect Steve at all costs drove him forward to stand at the kitchen island and pull a large knife from the drawer. Despite his resolve and how sure he was of his decision, he hesitated before making the cut. He felt tears sting his eyes, but even if he had doubts, the ghosts egged him on with their taunts:

_“You promised to pay”_

_“you promised us our revenge”                 “….do it”_

So he placed the knifepoint at his wrist and began to slice open his flesh arm. Long ragged cuts along the length of his skin. He’s an assassin, a killer, a tormentor; he knew how to kill quickly and efficiently but this target needed to suffer.

This kill needed to be drawn out with pain and loathing. This kill was personal.

Tremors near seizure intensity wracked his body, hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He methodically began the torture of the assassin that everyone, except maybe Steve, wanted dead. Screaming voices surrounded him, eerily like the fighting pits. He could feel the cold dead bodies shoved up against him, trapping him, like a crowded subway car stuck outside the station.

The ghost faces grew warped smiles and glowing eyes as they saw their requested revenge unfolding. He could feel their cold hands grab his body, pulling at his hair and driving their nails into his skin. He wasn’t in a rush, he needed to draw this out. It needed to be torture even if he couldn’t feel the physical pain any longer because the dead deserved this entertainment. He needed to make it last. He didn’t rush because the monster that inhabited his body needed to suffer for the sake of the dead.

<<<<<<

Sam turned back to the computer screens once he knew for certain that Steve had vacated the house and was on his way. He tried to reach Natasha but it went to voicemail so he had to leave her a message. "Call me! Barnes lost it. Steve is safe. DO NOT GO OVER THERE. Call me!”

He settled back into watching this shit-show on the live feed from the house. “Barnes, you traitorous asshole." He mumbled at the screen as he watched him cross towards the kitchen, he got more pissed as he recalled how Barnes had tossed Steve around the house like a fucking rag doll.

He could hear Barnes talking. To no one.

                            It was clearly a conversation with no one.

                                                 No phone, no comms, no other person was there. It was only Barnes.

 

BARNES: “Oh, so sorry, I guess I must have misunderstood…”

No one responded.

BARNES: “Really? Are you pissed? Oh, OK, I get it. I’ll get punished. Again."

No one responded.

BARNES: “Hey, take your best shot, asshole, but I got a plan that you didn’t sanction.”

No one responded again.

BARNES: “This will take care of it. No more hurting Steve, no more threats to him, no more Hydra, no more Soldier, no more Bucky.”

And with that, he was at the kitchen drawer with the knife in his hand sobbing uncontrollably.

 

Sam froze. He sat there staring at the screen and let the words and images sink in. “Oh my god, he’s really psychotic, it wasn’t a plot, it isn’t Hydra.” He still didn’t realize the implications of the knife and Bucky’s words as he thought about how he would be groveling to Steve for a long time about doubting Barnes’s mental state. How he was so certain Barnes was up to no good, plotting against Steve.

In that moment of stunned silence, his phone rang.

It was Natasha.

“What is going on Sam? What do you mean Barnes lost it.” It sounded like she was outside, he could hear traffic noise.

“Nat, I was watching the security footage, Barnes attacked Steve but he left the house, he’s hurt but safe…”

“Who’s hurt? Who left the house? Security footage? What security footage? That wasn’t set up, Steve didn’t want it.”

“Steve, Steve left. He’s hurt but ok. Well, after last night I booted it up and routed it to my home computer, I saw what happened. Good thing too since I got to see Barnes…”

“Sam, where is Steve? How hurt? Did he leave Barnes behind? Are you sure?”

Yeah, he’s on his way over here. I think his wrist is broken. Barnes is at the house. We need to do that intervention, Nat, he’s psychotic, he’s rambling on to himself. I saw him carry on a conversation with no one as if someone was there but no one was there.”

“Damn it. I’m going over there.”

NO. He’s out of control, you’ll get hurt. Wait for us.”

“Natasha!"

“What? What’s wrong? What are you seeing?”

“Nat, it’s Barnes, he’s got a knife. He’s cutting his arm. Oh, shit, shit, he’s trying to kill himself. Now it makes sense. What he said. Shit!”

“Sam, hang up and call Steve. Tell him to get back there. I’m on my way over there.”

She was nearly 30 minutes away from the house. There was no time to drive, he dialed the house phone running through her head a host of scenarios of how to talk him down. Maybe, just maybe Barnes would pick up.  

 

Bucky was far gone down the rabbit hole. There was no more need to hold it together. Steve was safe, the Voice was screaming jibberish at him, and the dead were cheering him on. It was all pathetically glorious, like a Roman spectacle. He made one ragged cut and then another and watched the blood fall, his whole body shuddered uncontrollably.

Somewhere in the background of the screams and jeering crowd the phone rang. Bucky didn’t hear it. He never even considered answering the phone on a good day, never mind in the middle of his suicide plot. The first few days of his being home the phone had become a bet between Sam and Natasha, who could get Barnes to answer the phone first. No one had won the bet. Natasha was praying to all the gods that she could win that bet today.

The answering machine beeped and a voice filled the kitchen.

“Barnes! Hey, pick up the phone, it’s me, Natasha, we need to talk.”

He kept up the slow relentless drag of the knife on his flesh, oblivious to anything but the task at hand.

"Barnes! Come on, pal, pick up the phone, please. I need to talk to you. I know you’re there, Steve said you never leave the house, you’re a hermit.” She called him ‘pal’ the way Steve would have.

She counted 1-2-3-4 waiting, then, as she realized, “Steve will be destroyed if I can’t stop this.” She tried the one thing that might trigger his response. She addressed him in Russian.

"<Barnes, come on listen to me. I bet Sam a 100 dollars you’d answer the phone if I called and I know you hate the guy and would want him to lose, right? So help me out here, answer the phone. Guess what? I’ll split it with you, ok?>"

Still no answer. Her head was pounding as she imagined him bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

"<BARNES! Answer the fucking phone. NOW! That is an ORDER!>"

Nothing. But what she didn’t know was that her demand appeared to be heard. Barnes shuddered at the command.

"<SOLDAT! Stop what you are doing, NOW and pick up the phone. IMMEDIATELY>"

He paused in the cutting and stared at his arm, at the blood pooling at his feet.

"<Barnes, I am NOT going away. I am NOT going to stop talking, so the last fucking voice your going to hear is MINE so you might as well get OVER yourself, you fucking selfish bastard and pick up that damn PHONE!>"  Her voice cracked with the scream.

The next thing she heard was a click. No words; no voice but she thought she could hear him breathing, long ragged breaths like someone who’s exhausted from sobbing.

He had picked up the phone.

<<<<<<

“Come on, come on, Steve, answer the phone. Come on, man answer the phone.” Sam was pacing madly in front of the computer. He couldn’t watch any longer, the last image burned into his brain was Barnes slicing open his arm, sobbing and talking to no one. Steve’s phone just kept going to voicemail. He tried to reach Natasha again but her phone was busy. He decided there was nothing more he could do by watching or waiting so he headed out the door. The place to be now was at the house. However this ended, he would need to be there for Steve. He’d keep trying his cell until he found him.

<<<<<<<<<

 

"<Barnes. You answered the phone. Thank you, good job, Soldat!>"

Bucky had heard her voice, her commands, heard something in her voice that moved his hand to reach for the phone. He was drowning in self-loathing but sometimes a drowning man reaches for a rescuer on reflex. Now that she had his attention, well at least she had the phone line open, she had to engage him; stop the cutting, stop the bleeding, somehow.

"<Listen to me, Barnes; I know you have a knife, I know you’ve cut yourself.>"

"<No. No, I don’t.>" He whispered.

She scrambled at his rebuttal.

"<Ok, then, help me out, Barnes.>" Natasha paced by the bike trying to come up with anything to stop the cutting, staunch the flow of blood, occupy him until one of them could get to him.

"<Hey, listen, Steve wanted me to get a grocery list started and since you’re on the phone, you can help me, right?>" She grimaced. “Wow, this is as lame as it gets.” But she was willing to try anything at this point. His life was on the line. And if Barnes goes, so does Rogers, so lame it had to be.

No answer from Barnes.

"<You must be in the kitchen, Right?>"

No answer.

"<Go to the fridge, Soldat. Go open the fridge door. Now.>"

She thought she heard a noise on the other end of the line. The sound of a door opening.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky had let go of all self-control. Once Steve walked away he allowed the dam to be opened to his guilt. He was so very tired of holding on. Tired of fighting. Seventy long years of fighting for his life. It wasn’t even a righteous fight. He was the evil one. The only good thing he had done was protect Steve. And now he would protect him one last time, save him from the part of him that couldn’t fight the voices, couldn’t fight the conditioning, the part of him that might one day actually kill Steve.

There was a voice that demanded his attention here at the end. He didn’t want to listen to her. She called him pal he heard her say Steve's name. The Russian words were easy to accept, more familiar now than English.

She said he had a knife and he was cutting himself. He looked down at his hands as if he was someone else. There was a knife in his metal hand, long cuts along his right arm, blood dripping down his clothes onto his bare feet. He didn’t feel any pain.

He could hear sobbing. Was that the women standing around him in the kitchen? He glanced at his own personal Greek Chorus. Maybe it was him. He couldn’t tell anymore; so much crying. He heard the Russian woman’s voice say "<Go to the fridge, open the door.>"

He wasn’t capable of knowing why she would have that ridiculous request but there was something about how she told him what to do that he just obeyed her. Her command was easier to obey than the command to kill the Captain so he staggered to the fridge and opened the door.

"<Soldat, there shouldn’t be blood on the food. Wrap your arm in the towel>" Natasha was reaching now. "This is too complex, he’ll never do it."

"<Soldat, is there blood on your arm? Answer me, right now.>"

"<Yes.>" he whispered.                                      

"<Get a towel and put pressure on the bleeding.>"

Bucky stared at his arm. His mind tried to process what the woman had said. Every movement was in slow motion.

"<Put the knife down first. Then put pressure on the bleeding.>" She shook her head, trying to make the instructions as simple as possible.

He turned to look at the knife. “How did I get that?” He couldn’t remember where it came from.

"<Report, Soldat. What is your status?>" She worked to sound firm.

"<Functional. Not functional.>" He thought but didn’t say.                                

"<Did you put pressure on your arm ?>"

“Yes.” But he hadn’t.

"<Good, now look at in the fridge. What’s on the top shelf.>" This was ridiculous. Natasha thought. “Suicide prevention through grocery lists.” The situation was rapidly becoming absurd on top of tragic.

Bucky stood at the open door to the fridge. The knife was still in his left hand. His right arm was bleeding freely. Not arterial, he was careful about that. He cut enough to harm himself but not enough to die; right away at least. For some godforsaken reason, the Red Head was on the phone yammering away at him and demanding he give her a grocery list right in the middle of his grand plan for escape. “Damn I hate her.” He vaguely thought. It was hard to have coherent thoughts anymore, what with all the talk going on in his head, the staggering guilt, stupid Steve, puking, food poisoning, now grocery lists. Fuck. No wonder Hydra looked good to him at times. He was so tired of crying.

"<The top shelf, Barnes, what’s on the top shelf.>"

At first, he stared at the fridge, blinking slowly; before answering “Milk.”

"<Ok, good, good. Is it full? Do you need more?>" Natasha was grateful for his answer.

“Juice.” He rasped out.

"<Ok, good. I guess. So you need more juice, right?>" She rallied. “At least he’s talking to me, at least he stopped hurting himself."

But he didn't respond.

“Barnes? <Soldat? Are you there still?>"

Nothing. No words. No sounds except that annoying dinging sound a fridge makes when the door has been open too long.

“Barnes, you ok? You still with me?”

“They’re here. They’ve come for me. I have to go now.” Barnes rasped out, low and terrified.

“Who? Who’s there? Who’s come for you? Barnes don’t you dare hang up. Don’t you dare die! I will personally kill you if you die on me. On Steve.” “BARNES!”

Natasha heard the phone hit the floor followed by a thud. She pictured it was him finally giving up. She clicked off her phone, started the bike and set out to cover the 30-minute ride to the house in under 10 minutes.

<<<<<<<

“Sam, what's going on? You’ve called me 12 times in the past 30 minutes?” Steve was gritting his teeth through the pain in his wrist while also flying down the highway to Sam’s place. He had dropped the phone in the truck and didn’t hear it ringing the first 11 times.

“Steve, thank god, we gotta get over there. I’m so sorry, it’s Barnes, he’s hurt, he hurt himself. I called Nat, she’s heading over there. I tried to reach you."

Steve nearly lost control of the truck as he tried to understand what Sam had just said. “What do you mean he hurt himself?”

“Steve, he, it looked like he tried to, to kill himself. I’m sorry.”

He hit the brakes hard as the truck slid on the shoulder of the road. “What? Is he alive? Sam? Is he alive?”

“The last I saw of him, he was alive. Hurt but alive. I called you to go back but when I couldn’t reach you I just started driving. I should be there in about 15 minutes. Steve just head back to the house. Nat is on her way. I think she called him. I’ve already called the medical team."

Sam’s voice faded into the background of his hearing. Bucky might be dead, by his own hand. Steve closed his eyes and tried to reel in his mind for a few seconds. “I left him there alone. What was I thinking? How could I? I abandoned him.” Steve ran with his guilt and turned the truck around to speed off headed back to their home.

He replayed that last hour at the house again and again as he drove towards Sam’s place. But now it took on new meaning. Bucky had thrown him out of the house. “Run,” he said, “Get out. I will kill you.” He had warned Steve. “Was he protecting me? Why kill himself? Why? How could he do this? We finally have a chance to be together and he does this?” There was nothing but speculation for now, and if Bucky survived, Steve vowed he would ask him what the hell he was thinking.

 

Bucky tried hard to listen to the Red Head. It was better than listening to the dead, even if she droned on. The Voice was so angry it had lost some of its power over him especially once he implemented his grand scheme to kill himself and thereby protect Steve, satisfy Howard and Maria and company, and stop all this damn puking and crying. The only flaw in the plan was the dying part. He didn’t really want to die. He wanted to escape, that isn’t the same as dying.

So, back to listening to the Red Head.

He tried to listen but as he followed her instructions and looked in the fridge he saw something besides the milk, juice, and eggs. He saw something wrapped in a cloth; bloody and worn. He blinked hard to help his blurry eyes focus, the form took shape as his memory caught up with him. His breath caught in his chest, he let out a low moan. He couldn’t say any more to the Russian woman on the phone except, “They've come for me.” He dropped the phone to fall into sobbing in front of the fridge as he stared at the preserved remains.

A ghostly mother with angry eyes knelt next to him. She grabbed his hair and shook him hard. Terror mixed with defiance showed on her face. She spit, “You’re an animal, pig. You took my children.”

Her hands slipped around his neck and started choking him.

He didn’t resist.

 Natasha arrived when the medical team pulled in. Sam must have called them she thought gratefully. She waved them to stay in place until she had cleared the house. Her heart was pounding like it never did when working. She hadn’t heard his voice in 10 minutes; the time it took her to race over the dirt roads to the house. The front door was torn nearly off the hinges; lamps and chairs turned over, a gaping hole in the wall by the front door. She knew the last place Barnes had been was the kitchen so she cautiously headed that way. She had a stun gun; just in case. Sam’s voice cracked in the ear comm, she had jammed it in just before she got off the bike. “Steve is 6 minutes out. I am right behind him. Be careful Nat.”

“Just don’t die Barnes, you idiot.” She halfway whispered out loud. She resolved to head for the kitchen right away, the stun gun ready, left then right, clearing the living room. She could see the fridge door open, could see blood on the floor but couldn’t see what was on the other side of the island. She inched her way around to take in the image of Barnes’s unconscious body slumped on the floor, back against the island, legs spread wide, his long hair ratty and wet. There was blood everywhere. He was surrounded by broken containers with their contents spilled, the knife close to his left hand, a towel loosely wrapped around his right forearm. The incessant pinging of the fridge door was deafening. For a moment she closed her eyes and pleaded, “You better not be dead pal.”

Natasha stepped forward and knelt next to him. She grabbed his arm and wrapped the towel as tightly as she could. Then pushed the hair from his face and pressed her fingers to his carotid and whispered “Barnes? You with me? Come on, show me you’re with me.”

Her fingers detected a slow, thready, ragged pulse. She held her breathe to be sure and yes, it was there. A pulse. No response to her questions. No movement, but a pulse.

 

Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest and into his head as he saw the strange but nondescript looking vehicles at the house, Natasha’s bike was there as well. He slammed the truck into park; bolted out the door, up the stairs, and into the house. He caught sight of Natasha standing by the kitchen island, he ran towards her.

"He’s alive, Steve, he’s alive.” She stepped towards him, trying to stop him from running full force into the scene.

Hot emotions washed over him. “No, no, no" His mind screamed. “Buck how could you?” Steve stopped just short of being able to see him. Natasha’s hands on his chest.

“It’s bad, Steve, but he’s alive.” She stepped aside. Steve took the next two steps to round the corner and find Bucky. He was still propped against the island, his chin was on his chest, long hair covering his face, clearly unresponsive. A woman was kneeling next to him, holding his right arm, there were fresh white bandages around it; two other strangers were in his peripheral vision helping Bucky and the woman. She was quietly giving instructions to her team as they helped her manage their acute response.

The only person Steve could see was Bucky.

“How could you, why?" He dropped to his knees in the pool of blood. His hand rested on his hair. “I’m so sorry." Steve leaned in close and buried his face in Bucky’s neck.

“Sir, I’m sorry, we need to move him, we need to stabilize him.” A woman’s voice broke through.

“Steve, come on, let’s get out of their way." He heard Natasha’s voice as she gently tugged at his arm to pull him away. He didn’t want to let go; at least he wasn’t going to let him out of his sight.

The medical team worked quickly with few words and no drama. Steve tried to help but the stabbing pain in his wrist left him more helpless than he cared to admit. He stood aside to allow these three strangers maneuver Bucky onto a backboard, to the stretcher and then to the downstairs bedroom. No hospitals had been one of the major points of discussion when he negotiated the medical coverage a few days earlier, never expecting to use them so soon.

Steve and Natasha stood in the doorway to the bedroom, now equipped like a hospital room, and watched as the medical team went to work. Steve cradled his wrist as Natasha wrapped her arm around his waist. They watched as the team cut away Bucky’s clothes but protected his privacy. An IV was started in his right foot; the lead person assessed him head to toe for other injuries. Blood was wiped away to assure they knew about all the wounds. Quiet instructions were given.

“Sir, can you answer some questions about him, please? Sir?” The younger woman was directing her questions at Steve. He shook himself out of staring at Bucky and entertaining his own racing thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I can answer, I think.” He stammered out.

The girl launched into a litany of demographic questions that Steve answered without hesitation. Allergies, drugs, medications; he had fully expected the first question to be “What’s the deal with that metal arm?” But that never actually came up. As if this team saw a full metal arm every other day in their line of work.

Then the next question. "Does he have a next of kin?”

Steve paused. “No. No one in his family is alive that I know of; except me. I’m his next of kin.” Steve wasn’t sure how official that was, but he knew that was the reality. All they really had was one another.

“Did you hear all that, Sam?” Natasha forgot about Sam being on the comm and on his way.

“I get the big picture." He was standing behind them after walking quietly into the chaotic scene.

“You should sit down, Rogers. You’re looking a bit pale.” Sam grasped Steve's shoulder. 

Steve's wrist had swollen twice its size and had turned a fantastic shade of purple/blue that would have been the envy of any tie-dye fanatic.

“I’m good. It can wait.” Steve protested. But his comment caught the attention of the lead medical person and she intervened.

“Sir, you need to take a seat right over there.” She pointed to a chair in the room. “We can assess more than one patient at a time.” He reluctantly sat down and allowed her access to his wrist.

“I can at least keep an eye on him this way."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky drifted into the darkness. It was soothing. He chose it, made the hard choice to sacrifice himself for the sake of protecting Steve. There was a host of other options but in his worldview, this was the only one he had left. He never expected to emerge from the darkness. It should have been a done deal.

 

His mouth was as dry as the desert he was stuck in with that idiot handler who couldn’t read a map a few years ago. He remembered how the man wouldn’t let him use the map.

“You’re the asset. You don’t read maps. You don’t think., You just kill.”

Well, after 3 days of following that fool around he did kill; he killed the idiot, took the map and got himself the hell out of that god-forsaken desert. “The hell I don’t read maps." He scoffed. Even Hydra didn’t begrudge him that kill.

 

“Wait a minute. What the hell? I’m alive? Am I alive?” No one in his head answered. “Okay. I didn’t really want to die but if I fucked this up and am still alive and those damn voices are still around, I am so pissed.”

 

There were voices. Real voices, somewhere in the house; none of the voices belonged to Steve. He was sad at not hearing him. He could tell he was at the house; Steve’s house; the 2017 version, not Brooklyn. There was a certain way an old farmhouse sounded. He could smell the grass outside, a window was open, he liked that. The voices were talking quietly to one another; not to him.

“Oh thank god. Just leave me out of it.”

He tried to lift his head from the pillow; no success. Frankly, he didn’t feel inclined to try any further. He could tell he had been sleeping, hard, that was nice. His flesh arm ached distantly; he felt oddly sedated without a care in the world. He did a quick mental assessment of his head and immediate surroundings: no voices, no urge to puke, cry or kill anyone. “Not bad, but where’s Steve?” He was too tired to go any further with his musings so he allowed sleep to engulf him. If he had opened his eyes just a crack he would have seen Steve sleeping in the recliner next to his bed. 

 

“What is that smell?” He thought. It was sweet, not like flowers but like sugary things. Tangy sweet. He had piss poor reference points for tangy-sweet smells. His catalog of odors was far more grim. There were those voices again; a woman, a man, another woman? No Steve. “Shit. Hope I didn’t kill him.” He wondered. He wiggled his metal arm to check for restraints; there were none. ”Good sign. Likely didn’t kill anybody then.”

He slept some more.

His body felt heavy, tired, beyond tired. He could feel an odd sensation in his penis. “What the hell is that?” There was a cold feeling in his right foot. He tried to open his eyes but the lids were so bogged down. He tried again and finally was able to flutter them open for a few seconds. It was hard to make a good assessment of the room and his situation in such a quick span of time, and factoring in his seriously groggy head, he did a fair job of gathering intel.

He was in the downstairs bedroom, in the bed with the head slightly elevated. An IV bag was hanging at his feet; it seemed to be attached to his ankle. “I hate doctors.” He didn’t see anyone else in the room, there was a recliner filled with a folded blanket. The bedroom door was open to the house and the window over his head was open. That was where the tangy sweet smell seemed to be coming from; and the voices again. Not THOSE voices, the ones in his head, but real voices talking about something; Flowers? Food? Movies?

“Whatever.” He moved his left hand under the sheet to his cock. He had to find out why it felt so weird. “Damn. I really hate doctors." It was a catheter. He knew too much about catheters. "Fucking Hydra."  But he could tell this wasn’t Hydra. Somehow he just knew that. No paranoia, no fear, no worries. His senses told him he was at Steve’s house, really exhausted and everyone was letting him sleep. “Good, let’s keep it that way.” He drifted off again, not even caring about the IV and catheter or who the hell put them into his body in the first place.

<<<<<<<<<<<

“James? Can you wiggle your toes for me?”

“Toes? I have toes?” He wondered to himself.

"Of course I have toes, and I can wiggle them, sure, here ya go.” He wiggled his toes at the woman’s voice.

”Ooops. Who are you? And why are you asking about my toes?” It felt like he had spoken out loud. He wasn't sure.

“Very good, James, now squeeze my fingers." He felt fingers slip into his flesh hand. He squeezed. There was more weakness and pain than he'd expected. 

"James, open your eyes.” The woman’s voice was closer now. He thought he could do that but wasn't convinced he wanted to.

His internal dialogue kicked in;  “What if she’s Hydra? What if this is all a dream and I’m in hell and I open my eyes and it’s some pointy-eared devil staring at me.”

He didn’t want to know, not yet. The sleeping was too good and he didn’t want it to end yet.

So he squeezed his eyes shut.

”James, I know you can hear me. Just open your eyes for a moment. My name is Cassie, I have been taking care of you for the last few days. I’d like to check your neurologic signs. So far they have been reasonable. Next thing to check is your eyes.”

Her voice was kind and strong. He gave it some thought for a moment.

He ignored her. “Not ready yet.”

Then he heard Steve. ”Buck, open your eyes. It's OK. You’re safe.”

He sounded; great, amused even, not angry.

When Bucky finally relented and opened his eyes, Steve was standing at the foot of the bed.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The sun had set hours earlier. He heard Sam and Natasha settle into their respective nesting spots. The medical team had packed up and headed home. Four days of coverage: IVs, medications, stitches, X-rays, a catheter in and out (Bucky shuddered at the thought of the out part since he wasn’t awake for the IN process.)

And the TALK with Cassie:

“I hate doctors.” He said belligerently.

“Oh, well lucky us. I am NOT a doctor. I am a Nurse Practitioner.”

“Very funny.” He shot back but he liked her after that.

She would be coming back. He agreed to her visits. She told him about the medications he was given. He was confused at first. It was a lot to take in.

“Medications?” He asked with a whole lot of skepticism.

She explained that was likely why the voices went away.

He was hoping all he needed was some sleep.

She left the pill bottles with Steve and went over the side effects with both of them.

"Great. So I really am crazy." He muttered to Cassie.

"James, we don't use that word." She had kindly explained. "You may have had a stress response that caused hallucinations. Medications can help, so does counseling. But we will need to talk more about it when I come back."

He didn't feel judged when she talked to him.

 

Bucky was awake and listening to the night sounds coming in through the open window. Moonlight filled the room. The house was quiet. A shadow crossed the room towards the bed. Bucky wasn’t afraid. He recognized the shape. Steve crawled into the bed and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him.

 

Somewhere far in the back of his mind, a Voice said:

_"You were supposed to die that day."_

_"You cheated us."_

Bucky listened to the Voice and thought about what it said.

"It’s not real. You’re not real. I don’t have to listen to you anymore."

_"You need to die today."_

Bucky was done with this bullshit. Done listening to ghosts and voices and his own crazy head.

”Not today, asshole. I ain’t dying today.” He rasped out loud.

The Voice had nothing more to say.

 

_REAPER_

_Broke down, thought that I would drown_  
_Hope that I've been found, 'fore I hit the ground_  
_Sun rays out the corner of my eye, hey_  
_Saw you weeping, saw you creeping_  
_Saw you sneaking in the shadow's dawn_  
_I feel so strong_  
_Saw you out the corner of my eye_  
_Don't come for me today_  
_I'm feeling good_  
_I'mma savor it_  
_Don't come for me today_  
_I'm feeling good_  
_I remember when You came to take me away_  
_So close I was to heaven's gates_  
_But no baby, no baby, not today_  
_me down_  
_You followed me like the darkest cloud_  
_But no baby, no baby, not today_

_Sia Furler_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U.S National Suicide Prevention Hotline  
> 1-800-273-8255  
> International Suicide Prevention website  
> http://suicidehotlines.com/international.html
> 
> Take care of one another.


	8. A Different Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky spent four days in the care of the medical team. This chapter backtracks over the end of chapter 7. It covers those four days from everyone else's perspective. Especially Steve.

Steve's anxiety showed as he sat on the edge of the straight back chair. His body tense, bent forward, good hand carding through his hair as the team of strangers tended to Bucky’s motionless body. Natasha hovering close; her hand on his back rubbing in circles, as much to calm her own apprehension as to settle Steve. Somewhere in the chaos, he had acquired two ice packs, an ace bandage and a sling on his right arm.

“This is surreal." Steve replayed the interview with the medical crew less than 24 hours earlier, a confident, competent, and decidedly quirky group. King T’Challa endorsed this team with enthusiasm, now here they were, at work, too soon. Steve shook his head at the thought of how fast it all went down.

He closed his eyes, trying to recall their names. The lead woman in her 40's, short dark hair; she had a no-nonsense air but made him feel safe with their unique stories. Her name wouldn’t float up in his memory. The younger woman remained quiet in their interview but her eyes had a spark that made it hard not to like her, of course, he forgot her name too. 

He did remember the big guy though, Jonah. He was impressive. Steve had to look up to him when they met. His broad shoulders and well-muscled body a testament to his work-out routine. A tattoo on his left forearm caught Steve’s eye. A circle with feathers hanging from the bottom, the circle in four colors; red, yellow, black and white. The most striking feature about Jonah, besides his waist length hair braid; his air of confident peace. It permeated the air around him. “I want some of that,” Steve thought. “I want Bucky to find that too.”

 

“Is he suicidal?” They asked. “Absolutely not!” He replied with conviction.

He was stunned at how wrong he was. How maybe he didn’t know Bucky at all it seemed.

“How could I be so wrong about him?”

“Wrong about him?” Natasha repeated.

Steve didn’t realize he had spoken out loud. “Sorry, I never thought he’d do this. I never thought he’d try to kill himself. How could I have missed this?”

Natasha wrapped her arms around his shoulders and whispered. “Steve, don’t do this to yourself, you’ve been his best hope for the last three years. We don’t know enough right now…”

“Nat, he sliced his arm open and they're working hard to keep him alive. This is looking a lot like he wanted to die.”

“Listen,” Natasha reassured him, “Sam said he was watching, he has the tapes. Barnes was talking to himself or someone who wasn’t there, we don’t know what he was thinking.”

Exhaustion washed over him as the last remnants of the adrenalin rush seeped out of his system. His eyes felt heavy as if he could fall asleep sitting there upright as long as Nat didn’t let him fall to the floor. He let the sounds of the medical team lull his senses as he slumped back into the chair and let his eyes close for a minute, maybe two. Until...

 

“He’s crashing," Jonah stated with loud, firm conviction.

Steve felt Natasha’s hand clench on his shoulder.

“Get the crash box.” The lead woman’s voice snapped him out of his fog.

“We’ve lost IV access here; vein’s collapsed.” The young woman called out. She had her hands on Bucky’s left ankle. Steve shot her a look, wondering when they got that IV in his foot in the first place.

“We need viable IV access folks. Let’s get a subclavian going.” The lead woman, ”Cassie, her name is Cassie," Steve’s memory kicked in. He stared as she opened the red box that Jonah dropped on the floor at the foot of the bed.

A machine connected to Bucky began beeping erratically as one of them flipped the alarm.

“We’ve got atrial flutter,” Jonah called out.

“BP is 60 by palpation and dropping.” The young woman stated crisply.

“Starting CPR.” Jonah shoved a board beneath Bucky and climbed right on top of him and began pushing on his chest.

Steve had the thought that he might want to vomit but couldn’t take his eyes off of the nightmare occurring in front of him.

They were losing Bucky.

“1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and ……”

The two women in gowns and gloves now; frantically working on the IV access at his right shoulder. Jonah pushing, counting, pushing, counting...

Steve felt himself stand up and take a step forward. Natasha held him back. “Don’t. Let them work.” He heard her whisper.

He could hear a scream forming in his mind. “He’s dying.”

 

Jonah stopped pushing.

“No pulse.” The younger woman stated a moment later.

“Charging.” A mechanical voice broke the human connections; then “Shock advised.”

“Clear,” Cassie announced loudly. Jonah jumped from the bed.

In unison, they called, "Clear!" Jonah placed paddles on Bucky’s chest and his body jolted in response to a shock.

Steve charged forward.

“NO! NO! STOP IT!” He grabbed Bucky’s leg.

Time stood still. All eyes on him. The only sound was the deafening long moan of a heart monitor gone flatline.

“Steve! What are you doing?” Natasha hissed.“They’re trying to save him!” She grabbed his arm, and shook him hard, trying to get between him and the bed, between him and the grip he had on Bucky’s leg.

He rasped, "Wait. Just wait. He wanted to die. He tried to kill himself."

Steve’s next thoughts barrelled like a freight train out of control. “Bucky tried, no, at this moment he succeeded in killing himself."

He stammered, “He’s suffered enough, seventy years of torture.” Lingering on each word. "He’s consumed with guilt; you have no idea what he’s facing. People want him dead, in prison, worse. Maybe he should die, maybe he’s right, it’s the only way he’ll ever be free.” Steve clutched Bucky’s leg struggling to reconcile what he was about to do.

Letting Bucky go.

“You bastard, you have no fucking right. Do NOT do this, Steve.” Natasha’s voice cracked as she slammed a fist into his chest.

“What the hell are you doing Steve?” Sam’s worried voice broke into his racing thoughts as he grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. “You don’t know the half of it man, with all due respect get your head out of your ass.”

Steve's focus shifted to the diorama of Bucky’s lifeless body on the bed with three medical people standing ready, looking shocked and expectant, all eyes on him.

“Tick-tock; Tick-tock. TICK-TOCK.” A small but distinct and attention-grabbing sound shattered his state of indecision. The young woman on the team, Alex; her name came to him as he stared at her large brown eyes. She stood toe to toe with him, coming up near his armpits, giving him one of the coldest stares he ever had the pleasure of receiving. Proper medical decorum be damned; she demanded an answer.

Natasha grabbed his face and held him tight forcing him to look at her. “Don’t you dare do this Steve, don’t you dare let him die, for god’s sake it’s Barnes! It’s Bucky. You idiot. Don’t you do this!”

He shook off his indecision, “Yes. YES! Help him. Do it, save him. I’m sorry, such an idiot. I’m so sorry.” He staggered backward and released his grip on Bucky.

 Cassie, Alex, and Jonah went to work.

“No pulse. Resume CPR. 1 and 2 and 3 and ….”

“Shock advised. Ready to shock.”

“Clear.” The sound of Bucky’s body responding to the paddles.

“No pulse. Resume CPR. 1 and 2 and 3 and …”

"We need the epinephrine,” Cassie added.

“Charging. Ready to shock.”

“Clear.” Again the jolt; the sound of Bucky’s body moving.

“Epi is in.”

“Hold CPR. What have we got."

No one spoke as the erratic beeping wandered then fell into a regular rhythm. Beep…beep…beep…beep.

“He’s breathing on his own,” Alex announced.

“We have sinus rhythm,” Jonah breathed with a relieved tone.

A spontaneous three-way fist bump over Bucky’s living breathing body celebrating the sinus rhythm announcement.

Steve collapsed in the chair as he felt Natasha sink to the floor at his feet.

Sam slid down the wall and onto the floor. “Are we done now? Cuz I’m done now if no one else is willing to admit it, that’s ok, I am done and not too proud to admit it.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry."

  

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Hi, you might not remember, my name is Jonah.” The big guy knelt next to Steve as he sat slumped in the chair deep in self-loathing.

Steve almost let Bucky go after he promised him, “I’ll never let you go. Just last night, I told him. I won't let you go and look at what you just did." He was going to have to pay a whole lot of penance for that near-disastrous decision.

Jonah’s words intruded again. “He’s stable right now so I’d like to get an x-ray of your wrist if that’s ok.” He smiled and gestured towards the bathroom.

Steve looked skeptical. "Ah, that’s the bathroom.”

Jonah chuckled. "Yup, it works great for the portable x-ray machine. Let’s get you taken care of.” He stood up and offered a hand to Steve, who was feeling his real chronological age.

It didn’t take long for the x-ray and the temporary cast before he found himself sitting across from Bucky.  His gaze took him in, drawn and pale, sunken cheeks, body covered with a blanket, an IV running to his right shoulder, a bag with yellow fluid hung from the bed frame near his feet, the tubing snaking its way under the covers. Exhaustion washed over Steve.

“How are you feeling?” Cassie's quiet concern pulled him from the moment.

“Fine. I think.” Steve's words didn't match his disheveled hair and tired features.

Cassie disagreed. “Let’s go sit out in the living room and talk. Jonah and Alex will be here with James. They’ll get us both if anything changes.”

Steve's move to follow slowed by his need to keep his eyes on Bucky the entire time.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Your friend’s condition is stable but guarded for the moment. He’s lost a lot of blood, appears malnourished and dehydrated. We’ve started fluids and electrolytes, and will consider tube feedings if we can’t get food into him soon.” Cassie summed up. 

Steve nodded.

She continued, “You said yesterday that you felt he was hearing voices and appeared paranoid. Is that correct?”

His quiet answer, “We have tapes of him talking to no one. We can show you. You have to help him. He tried to kill himself because of the voices, that’s not like him. Not something Bucky would do would have done. Before. Not now, I'm not sure anymore."

“It would be difficult to medicate him at this point but we’ll keep assessing the situation. We’ll treat him as the need arises.” Cassie reassured. 

Steve pushed, "Please help him. He needs help. He stopped talking to me, stopped eating and drinking. I couldn’t get through to him.”

“I understand your frustration. But right now he’s in a coma. He isn’t really responding to stimuli, it would be unethical for me to give him medications that are not clearly indicated by his condition.”

“I told you yesterday that he was a POW, that he was tortured. But it’s more than that. He was brainwashed for years. They shocked his brain repeatedly to wipe away his memories." He didn’t want to reveal Bucky’s story; didn’t want to betray him, by telling a stranger this history but he had to get her to understand. "Then his captors, his handlers, they forced him to fight, kill people, innocent people, they turned him into a weapon."

Cassie listened, her face reflecting no judgment or shock.

He continued, “He escaped from them. He’s been on the run ever since. Always looking over his shoulder, always wondering who’s going to catch up with him next and what are they going to do to him when they do catch him. He's paranoid; to a fault.”

Her calm response, “Some would say being paranoid is just a form of good judgment. It likely kept him alive.”

“He remembers. All those memories from when we were kids are coming back. He remembers what they did to him, what he did for them. I don’t know for sure, I think he remembers who he killed, I think those are the voices he's hearing. He hasn't told me. I can hear him talking at night."

Cassie nodded. “So now he lives with the horror of what they did to him as well as the guilt of what he did. That can put him at risk of significant PTSD. Reason enough to destabilize, maybe hear voices, or feel that suicide is the only way out. It’s a good thing you changed your mind.”

Steve looked at her with some confusion.

She continued, “You stopped the code. You nearly let him go. It’s a good thing you came to your senses."

Steve muttered, “He’s suffered for seventy years. Cryostasis over and over to keep him going as a weapon. I thought maybe it was time to end it since he wanted to end it.”

“I understand. But is that really how you would want it to end? You said it wasn’t like him to do that kind of thing. He survived this long for a reason. Call it resilience, fate, stubbornness, karma. Whatever you want to call it. He’s still here and so are you. Maybe it’s time to embrace it; good, bad, ups and downs.”

She got up. “You might want to get some rest. We’re going to be busy in the next few days."

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sam wrestled with a rising sense of resentment and concern as he threw himself into the methodical job of cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. “What the fuck, Barnes. There’s jelly in here, pickles, eggs. You’re such a jerk. You knew I’d get to clean this mess up, you made it as disgusting as possible." Sam's out loud complaint more of a stress-relieving strategy than an actual hope that Barnes could hear his protested litany. 

“Really man how could you do this. How could you hurt Steve like this? You’re such an asshole, a selfish asshole. I hate you." Sam’s voice trailed off when he felt the tickle of being watched. “Ah. Hi.”

“Hello.” The young woman stated flatly.

Sam's quick assessment of the youngest member of the medical team showed him a slight-built girl, hot pink hair spiked to stand straight up, complimenting the dancing unicorn wrapped in a rainbow that adorned her neck. 

His attention jerked back to her face by her words, "You do know he’s in a coma in the other room, right? He probably can’t hear you from two rooms away.”

"Yeah, well you don't know Barnes. He’s frustrating, selfish. This hurt Steve. It pisses me off no end," he pushed at the sticky mess with his toe, "I enjoy complaining about him.”

“Maybe you don’t hate him." She offered as she pulled on gloves and a paper gown, “Maybe you just feel helpless.”

Sam bristled, "I’m not helpless." 

“I didn’t say you WERE helpless. I said you FELT helpless. There’s a difference.”

A squinted-eyed stare, “Right.”

She grabbed a box of sand and spread it over the sticky mess of blood. “He probably hates himself more than you hate him. He probably feels more helpless than you do." Her quiet assessment not lost on Sam that maybe she was speaking from experience more than sympathy.

They worked in silence after that, coordinating their efforts, helping one another with the mop, the blood absorbing sand, a box for the glass.

“My name is Sam. We never got introduced." He extended a filthy gloved hand towards her.

The young woman glanced up from scrubbing the floor. "I’m Alex. Pleased to meet you.” She stared at his extended hand for a moment then offered her own filthy gloved fist to bump, they finished their task in silence.

 

Sam's final mumbled protest as he headed to the basement bathroom with a plan to use up all the hot water, “I do too hate him.” 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve agreed to rest but refused to go to his room. “Like a fucking four-year-old,” Sam muttered as he struggled with dragging the recliner into the medical room so Steve could sleep in there.

“At least he’s going to lie down," Natasha added as she tossed a pillow and blanket on the chair and left the room.

It was late in the night and everyone was in need of some downtime. Sam paused after moving the chair, to watch Barnes sleeping. "He almost looks peaceful." A mulled over revisit of Alex's words nagged at his memory. He struggled to imagine that Barnes felt helpless, or desperate enough to give up. But Sam had to admit to himself that as much as he was biased against Barnes, he had the evidence, he’d watched as Barnes unraveled not from an outside source, no calls from Hydra or another handler. What Sam had watched, he had to admit, was torture. Barnes was tortured, still. And, he clearly tried to protect Steve despite his own descent into chaos.

“Maybe I can alternate hate with tolerating." Sam decided as he found himself standing over a sleeping Barnes. “At least he doesn’t snore.” Which was a comfort since he knew he’d be sleeping in that chair as well before this situation was over.

“You ok?” A whispered question from Steve.

He muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking. He doesn’t seem as menacing when he’s asleep.”

“Really? You haven’t slept with him." Steve muttered.

Sam looked at him hard. “What?”

“Never mind. I’m too tired. Not making any sense.” Steve brushed it off trying to avoid that imagined conversation, “You’ve slept with him? You’ve slept in the same bed with the man who wants to kill you half the time and is psychotic the rest of the time? Nevermind what kind of message that sends to him? Tell me you haven’t let this get sexual, please, he’s a train wreck."

Steve pictured the Sam lecture lasting on into the night, best to gloss it over as a slip of the tongue.

Sam didn't buy into the excuse and muttered, "Too damn tired, grown men can sleep wherever they want, with whomever they want, done.” His pace to leave slowed to add “Listen, Steve, I’m sorry I doubted him. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“Sam, it’s all good. I’m sorry too.” He clapped a hand on Sam’s arm. "I am doubting myself every second. I think Bucky’s the only one who actually knows what he’s doing anymore.” Steve shook his head as his gaze rested on Bucky.

Sam huffed a short laugh, "Well, that is a scary thought. And with that, I am heading to bed."

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve dozed off watching Bucky’s deep and steady breathing. A dream of running, he slogged in ooze that clung to his feet, holding each step. A desperate chase after Bucky far ahead, covered in blood, wires wrapped around his body, a struggling, rolling form that hurtled further and further away from Steve's outstretched arm with every twitch and step.

Steve tried to call to him to stop or wait but no voice came out, only a muffled cry. In the dream Bucky turned to look at him, recognition in his eyes he raised a hand to reach out, opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, no screams. He saw him begin to shake, his body twisting in impossible contortions, head twitching, eyes rolling back white. He could hear the arm plates shifting, scraping, whirring; louder and louder. Suddenly Bucky was right in front of him, quivering, open-mouth empty screams, begging fear deep within his gaze, electricity crackling along his skin crawling across the air to raise the hair on his arms. He felt the shock race through him as if it was his own body strapped in the memory suppression machine.

Steve startled awake, sweat-soaked, panting breaths, his gaze darted around the room and fell within seconds on the bed.

Bucky’s peaceful sleep had grown restless. He was moving his legs; the arm whirred softly; mumbled words stirred by his jerking movements.

Steve felt a too familiar rush of anxiety as he rose from the recliner, a quick thought to get Cassie sidelined when Bucky sat bolt upright, wild-eyed, panting and terrified. A stream of words rolling out, angry and frightened, nothing recognizable until they started to click in Steve's mind, a litany of Russian. Bucky's body shook, hair twitching with the near-seizure like violence, his arm whirred and shifted, building agitation pushed him to kick at the covers, they fell aside, his feet swung around and connected with the floor. 

Steve stepped towards him, "Can’t let him get to anyone.” He moved to contain him. The last thing he wanted or needed was another struggle with Bucky while having a fractured wrist in a splint. But even worse would be letting him get out of that room. Steve braced himself for the impending brawl but a restraining hand on his arm pulled him back.

It was Jonah.

“I got this.” He whispered as he tugged Steve back and away. He tried to stand his ground but Natasha showed up to snag the back of his pants and pull him towards the door. “Let’s get out of the way, Steve. They know what they're doing.” She parked them just outside the door, Steve wouldn’t go out any further.

Jonah moved slowly forward, grabbed the straight-backed chair, turned it backward and sat on it next to the bed, a move to make his large and challenging appearance smaller and comforting. He ignored the growing threat of that arm and a psychotic Bucky. “Hey, man, my name is Jonah, let’s talk for a minute.”

Bucky kept rambling in Russian, low and angry. His eyes darting back and forth as if he was looking for something or someone. Both feet resting on the floor.

“You were hurt bad when I got here, so we helped you out.”

Bucky didn’t look at him.

”You’re looking a lot better right now except you look scared. Are you afraid of something?” Jonah offered despite Bucky's Russian chatter and trembling.

“We want to help you feel better. Help you feel safe. No one here is going to hurt you.”

Bucky jerked his head away from where Jonah sat as if someone had spoken to him. A growled Russian litany of words that carried the tone of a threat.

“Is someone else talking to you right now? Is someone telling you what to do?”

Jonah's comment pulled Bucky’s attention back, but never gained his eye contact.

”Yeah, so maybe someone else is calling the shots right now, but you don’t want to listen to them is my guess, right?” Jonah's engagement pulling him in, narrating for the audience in the doorway as Cassie appeared behind Steve and Natasha.

“Maybe you disagree with them. You just gave them some shit, right? Called them fuckers, and some other names I won’t repeat in English." A new layer to Jonah's knowledge base revealed. 

Bucky’s attention on Jonah increased. Steve held his breath. He saw the all too familiar look on his face, the unnerving blank and angry snarl. He could hear the arm plates re-align. Steve worried to himself “Jonah’s seeing this as a threat. He has to hear those plates. I should have warned him about the arm.” Steve tried again to step towards the scene but both Cassie and Natasha blocked him.

Bucky’s left hand clenched and unclenched; the plates settled, his fist shot towards Jonah’s face as Bucky let out a low angry growl.

Jonah didn’t flinch as Bucky’s fist stopped short of hitting him and ended with a fist full of his shirt.

Bucky’s eyes met Jonah’s.

“I’m real. You can hear me talking right?” Jonah quiet reassurance.

Bucky didn’t answer but had assent in his eyes.

“Are you hearing other people talking to you right now?”

Bucky still didn’t answer but the truth was clear when he started to cry.

“Ok, man. I get it. I truly do get it. There’s a voice you’re hearing. Right?”

Bucky shook out a faint nod of agreement.

“Are there more than one?”

Bucky sobbed harder.

“Ok. That has to be hard to listen to all the time. No wonder you’re exhausted.”

“Did the voice, the voices, tell you to hurt yourself?”

Bucky pulled Jonah closer, as he whispered out a faint answer of “No.” Then “Yes.”

Jonah moved his hands to rest on the bed where Bucky could see them. The arm was as impressive as Jonah thought it would be when he first laid eyes on it. But he'd been working with psychosis for a long time; he was well acquainted with the power of fear and an unrestrained psyche. He hoped he could talk Bucky down, felt certain he could but was ready for any eventuality.

“Did the voices tell you to hurt other people?”

Bucky’s head twitched hard, a tremor shook his metal hand. He nodded “Yes," as he whispered, “Steve.”

“Are they still telling you to hurt Steve?” Jonah had to know; had to ask. 

Bucky shook as he nodded, “Yes.”

He leaned in closer to Jonah who offered no resistance. He pressed his forehead against the side of Jonah’s head to whisper, "Tried to stop, tried to die. Protect Steve. Can’t fight it; let me go, please.”

Jonah closed his eyes for a moment. 

Bucky had chosen to die not just to end the voices but to save Steve. That he still wanted that outcome even now.

“Ok brother, I hear you, loud and clear. I hear you.”

Jonah placed one hand on Bucky’s metal wrist as he went on, “Listen, I have a better way to offer you.” His other hand on Bucky’s head, trying to steady the increasing tremors.

“I get it, brother. I’ve been there. The nightmares, the voices, guilt that rips out your soul. I felt the way you feel; dying seems like the only way out.”  Slow gentle fingers stroked through his hair, a thumb caressed his wrist, easing the grip. 

“I know you don’t want to hurt your friend, and I believe you don’t want to hurt anyone else. I believe you don’t really want to die. You just didn’t know you had any other options. Right?”

Bucky nodded again in agreement.

“I want you to consider something else. New information. A better way to deal with this.”

Confusion crossed Bucky's features.

“Yup. It involves medication. Maybe you’re thinking you don’t trust that; maybe you’re thinking you don’t trust me. You don’t even know me. All I can offer you is my story and a promise that on my honor, on my ancestor's honor, I would not lie to you. I will not make you do anything against your will.”

Bucky let go of Jonah’s shirt and his hand dropped to the bed. Jonah took that as a “Yes.” A discreet nod towards Cassie. He let go of his wrist and reached to pull the blankets across Bucky’s legs as they dangled from the side.

“We need to get some nourishment into you. I’m betting you’ve lost some weight and I have the ultimate protein shake here; no crappy tasting over the counter stuff for my patients, this is my own personal recipe.”

Cassie crossed to prepare the mediations; something to help Bucky sleep and something for the voices. She'd heard all she needed to hear in the conversation with Jonah. Bucky remained at risk. 

He didn’t protest at the protein shake. Jonah held the cup steady as Bucky sucked it down. The accidental squeak an added bonus for Steve.

“There’s more of that whenever you wake up. That was vanilla, a good place to start but I can make all flavors; chocolate, strawberry. Wait, I can see it, you're a peanut butter man, am I right?”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Jonah made a mental note to make one for the next round of getting Bucky to eat. 

A few minutes later, Bucky was medicated, tucked in, all tubes and supporting machinery stable; he was fast returning to sleep.

Jonah crossed to exit the room and was met by Steve and Natasha. His eyes met Steve’s; he nodded and patted him on the arm as they stepped back and let him pass. Steve wanted some of whatever Jonah had going on; he never thought anyone would connect with Bucky like that, a twinge of envy flirted with his heart.

 <<<<<<<<<<<

Everyone fell into a dysfunctional yet functional routine after the medications were added. Sitting with Barnes, sleeping in the recliner, coaxing him to drink the protein shakes. Too weak to get up, so the foley catheter stayed. Sam winced every time he looked at it. He even took his turn getting the shakes into him although it was more of a struggle between them.

Alex proved to be fearless. Her turn to Barnes-sit made Sam pretty nervous, he stuck around. "I can help her move him if she needs muscle.” He joked, but really he just wanted to protect her.

“Hi, I’m Alex.” She offered as Barnes stared intently at her when he first registered her presence. Lying on his side, drifting in and out of sleep while she wiped down his back and rubbed lotion in. He had startled at her touch and rolled around quickly to grab her hand.

Sam jumped to the bedside.

Alex held up her free hand to hold him off.

“I’m sorry I startled you, I was just rubbing in some lotion. You don’t want bedsores, do you?” He didn’t answer but slowly let go without leaving a mark.

“Great! Time for a shake!” Alex moved to the small fridge in the corner, the newest addition to the room, she pulled out a large cup with a straw and offered it to Bucky.

He reached for it, their fingers connected, he paused, then took the cup and sucked it dry ending with what Sam thought was a satisfied look.

As Alex left the room and Bucky laid back down, she shot back a question. “Hey, that was peanut butter. How’d you like it?” Bucky didn’t answer.

She started to leave.

But Sam whispered, “Alex, look.”

She turned to see Bucky, eyes closed, drifting off, his left hand giving her the thumbs up.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Natasha was Barnes-sitting when the barbecue was getting in full swing. The tangy sweet smell was mouth-watering. She knew Steve had promised to bring her some but that smell was too much. She stared at Barnes for a moment, he seemed settled, so, she ran out the back door to the front of the house and snagged a plate. By the time she got back, Barnes was still sound asleep. “Perfect.” She thought.

 

The last day of Bucky's not-hospital stay the medical team said their goodbyes. Cassie, Steve and Bucky had "The Talk." Steve felt like he was back in school again with Bucky, both of them in the principle’s office. "Doomed to get in trouble with Bucky; no matter what century." 

Bucky looked a bit intimidated by Jonah as he stared up at him. He didn’t remember much about the last few days. But Steve could testify Jonah had seen and touched more parts of Bucky than even Steve could lay claim to; "Maybe it's better that Buck doesn’t remember him.”

Then came Alex. Steve hadn’t gotten to talk to her much, not that she talked at all except to Sam. She approached Bucky with an odd mix of shyness and strength. She reached for his right arm and began to wrap a long golden-colored cord 3 times around it and secured the clasp then patted his hand. Bucky stared at it for a long time. His responses slowed by the ordeal and the medications. Steve hoped that would improve. Alex placed a folded card in Bucky’s hand, then moved to leave, but turned back quickly and planted the sweetest, fastest kiss on his cheek Steve had ever seen. Then she was gone, leaving Bucky looking confused, scared and maybe a slight blush.

“Blushing! Who knew Bucky Barnes could blush!” Natasha laughed out loud as she watched the good-byes from the recliner.

That night after the medical team left, Steve snuck into the downstairs bedroom to check on Bucky; he wasn’t planning on lying down, he was just so tired and honestly, lonely. He knew it was probably not a good idea to give in to his desire to hold him; shouldn’t let his own fantasies about Bucky get even a small amount of fuel. He thought “Just one more night, one more time," and climbed into the bed to wrap himself around him.

He had a confession to make. “I nearly let you go. I promised to hold onto you no matter what, but the other night when they lost you. I stopped them from bringing you back.”

“I’m still here,” Bucky whispered.

“I know. I changed my mind, go figure.”

“I get it. I’m a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you are, without a doubt a big pain in the ass.”

Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Good. Good. It goes both ways, you’re stuck with me too.”

 

 

 

 


	9. Drywall and Other Broken Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our team has weathered the deepest darkness, so far anyway. Who is this Bucky person now? What does Steve want really? Can Sam ever get along with Bucky? Guess we'll have to see....

“Come on, man, hold up your end, you’ve got a freakin’ metal arm, lift it UP!” Sam's frustration with Barnes boiled over, he called it quits with Steve’s rules of engagement when it came to Barnes.

“No yelling at him.”

“No making fun of him.”

“No betting with Natasha about him.”

“No baiting him.”

“No cheating in games on him.”

Steve had zero sense of humor when it came to Barnes. Half the fun of being a team was breaking in the new guy and Barnes was it. Not to mention he was an excellent target. He had even less of a sense of humor than Steve and he got frustrated way too easy to ignore, the perfect target for good-natured jokes. Sam felt it was his official job to lighten them up, right now, nothing was funny about drywall hanging.

‘Barnes, come on, help me out here. I’m a mere mortal man, you’re a super soldier, you can lift the damn drywall better than this put some brawn into it!” Sam groaned as he struggled to hold the drywall in place and nail it as it kept slipping down, then to one side, then fell over.

Bucky for his part was holding it up, maybe not where it needed to go or where it was helpful to Sam but he indeed held it up. His impassive stare at Sam wore on as he remained obedient to Steve's directive, “Go help Sam fix the hole in the wall that you made.”

Bucky countered, “Well technically you made the hole in the wall, not me.”

“I made the hole in the wall? Yeah, when you threw me into it. So yes, technically I made it but you propelled me. So you, get to help fix it and the only reason you’re not fixing it by yourself is that it would look like a 1940’s Brooklyn tenement afterward.”

Bucky sulked as he wandered off to help Sam fix the hole that “Both of us made.” A muttered protest, “This making amends stuff is bullshit. I break stuff, Steve, remember? I don’t fix stuff.” He groused over his shoulder as he dragged himself off to help Sam.

“Well just consider this vocational rehab.” Steve shot back without looking up from repairing an end table casualty of Bucky’s break-down.

Eventually, the drywall hung nailed in place and ready to be painted. Sam found himself covered in sweat and dust. Not to mention a good deal of blood from the exacto knife slip-ups when Barnes dropped the drywall, a couple of times; and he couldn’t feel his left thumb from the 5 times he whacked it with the hammer thanks to Barnes’s profound lack of skill in home repair.

<<<<<<<<<<<

Sam collapsed on the sofa in the basement to watch Steve work his right arm with the weights. The serum helped with the healing but he still had some work to do to get it back to form.

“Done already?” Steve huffed out as he did strengthening curls.

“Already?  We started 6 hours ago, that was a 90-minute job, it took us 6 hours thanks to Mr. Fix-it.”

“Sam, remember, don't make fun of him. He’s trying.”

“I’ll say he’s trying, he’s trying my patience.” Sam’s thumb throbbed, his sympathy remained elusive since Bucky was still in one piece and probably could have driven the nails into place with his fist never mind using a hammer.

“Look, he really feels bad about everything. The damage to the house, my wrist, and the stress he’s caused you and Nat.” Steve paused in his work out to defend Bucky. “Just give him some time.”

“Yeah I know he feels bad, he comes to my room at night and goes on about how he’s sorry and how he wants to do better. We bond talking about his existential angst.”

Steve stopped to stare at Sam, “What? He comes to your room at night?” Bucky hadn’t come to Steve’s room since the night of the food poisoning and even then it was by default when Natasha put him there. The last time they had slept in the same bed was the night in medical when Steve had vowed it would be the “Last time.”

“Why would he go to your room and not mine?” Steve wondered out loud. A flash of jealousy mixed with a bit of betrayal twisted his gut.

Sam confessed, “Ah, Steve, he doesn’t come to my room. Are you serious? He doesn’t even speak to me. You realize that, don’t you? He’s said all of 6 words to me in the last 2 weeks and three of those words were fuck.” He added, “And, I think he actually has a negative word count with Natasha.”

“What’s a negative word count?"

“Yeah, not only does he not speak to her, he practically runs out of the room when she shows up so we’ve decided to score that as a negative 10 on the word count game.”

“You two are still making bets about him. I knew it.”

“No, no, of course not. Come on, lighten up, buddy.” Sam chided, but he wasn’t kidding. He and Nat had a robust betting ring going when it came to Barnes.

They were not about to give it up.

 

“By the way, where is he?” Steve asked as he returned to the methodical curls.

“I left him up there to paint. How hard can that be?”

Their imaging of how hard it might be to paint a wall interrupted by a loud thud then “Shit.”

A quick trip upstairs revealed Bucky standing by the newly hung drywall, a drop cloth on the floor, a large can of paint on its side on the drop cloth, paint splatter expanding out from the drop point in an impressive arc over the wall, nearby furniture and especially Bucky himself. His favorite black sweats covered in a lovely shade of Birdseye Maple, very calming and neutral, just the way the store clerk had described it to Sam.

Bucky was staring down at the evidence of his “complete ineptitude” as he told himself; it had been a very long day in a string of very long days, hell he even had paint in his hair. Of course, the paintbrush in his hand was bone dry.

He startled as he heard Steve and Sam run into the living room. He really didn’t want to look at, didn’t want to see Steve staring at yet another mess that he had made. “Have to look at him, have to. He’ll hound me about eye contact." Bucky dared to look up and offer a wide-eyed, “I’m sorry” look for a whole 5 seconds before he resumed staring at the ever-growing puddle of paint on and around his sneakers.

Bucky saw the look on Steve’s face; a stifled laugh. "Damn, the traitor.”

Sam sighed and ran to get a shovel and the trash can.

Steve got his shit together before, “Ok, no worries, Buck. It’s just paint, let’s get it cleaned up, we’ll help." He knelt down to turn the can upright and shore up the drop cloth.

Bucky couldn’t move; didn’t dare move. He was beyond tired. All he could see was that damn paint on everything; a surge of emotion roared up that made him angry, a storm inside his brain started to grow. Anger, shame, frustration. He snarled down the urge to put his fist through the newly hung drywall. He shook his head. A muttered, "Get out of my head.”

Steve heard him though and stopped cleaning to cautiously look up at him. He signaled for Sam to stop moving as he waited to gauge what Bucky’s next move might be.

Bucky shook his head again, a faint voice floated up, _"You’re nothin’ but a screw-up._ ”

HIs muttered response, “Fuck that, just fuck that shit." 

Bucky’s head shook a third time; his shoulders tensed; he blinked hard before noticing Steve staring up at him.

“Bucky? Hey, you ok? You, you’re talking to yourself." His voice trailed off.

“No, I’m not.” He growled. Then softened. "Well yeah, I am. To myself --- not, like you think. Not to, someone else --- nevermind, just nevermind. I’m fine.” Bucky huffed, and started towards the stairs but jerked to a halt at Steve's “SHOES OFF!” command.

He frowned, pulled his sneakers off, clenched them to his chest and tip-toed towards the stairs working to not touch anything on the way up. He was done.

Steve knew it. He wasn’t going to protest or insist he help with the cleanup. The self-dialogue evidence enough that Bucky had reached his limit for the day.

“He ok?” Sam asked as he shoveled paint into the trash can.

“Yeah, he gets tired, overwhelmed.”

“That was some self-dialogue. Has he been doing much of that?” Sam worried as usual that Steve downplayed the situation.

“Sometimes he talks out loud like he’s talking to someone when he’s tired or frustrated. But he can always talk to me. He’s not disconnecting.” Steve offered as he wiped paint from the stair banister.

“What’s Cassie say about that?” Sam was hoping they told her.

“It’s only been two weeks, Sam, not long enough for the meds to have full effect.”

“So you haven’t told her?”

“No. I haven’t. Bucky did.”

“He told her?”

“Yup. He calls her every three days to check in. He knows he’s talking out loud. That’s different than before, he knows its happening now, that if he hears a voice in his head it isn’t a real person.”

Sam kept it to himself but he was not ready to have the faith in Barnes that Steve had. He was worried. ”Steve’s gonna be crushed if he falls apart again.”

As far as the head shaking, that was new. It was never a tic that Bucky had before the fall and apparently wasn’t an issue while with Hydra at least Bucky didn’t remember it. “I shake my head?” was all he had to say about it when Steve first pointed it out. It was turning out to be not a good sign generally as the team was learning.

Cassie had suggested it was partly reflex, a physical response to the internal stimuli of the voices; or it could be neurological, a permanent side effect of the horrific brain wipes over and over. Cassie offered testing but Bucky categorically refused to consider it. “No more wires, probes, tests, doctors. No more!” Even Cassie couldn’t persuade him. “Time will tell," her final pronouncement.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Steve heard the shower running about an hour later. He went upstairs and stood outside the bathroom door. A slow rhythmic thump, thump, thump came from the room. “What the hell is he doing?” Steve leaned his head against the door listening. “Is he hitting something?” Steve started to feel anxiety rise; although things were better, apprehension reared up easily with the right motivation, they all suffered from PTSD after Bucky’s break down. “What is he doing?"

Steve knocked. "Buck, hey, coming in, buddy.” The door was unlocked. There were no locked doors allowed since the food poisoning fiasco, Steve threatened everyone with “removing the doors” if they didn’t agree to never lock another door in the house.

For Bucky’s part, he thought Steve had lost his mind. “I’m not the only one losing it around here.” He groused but ultimately agreed to the latest rule since it took too much energy to argue.

Natasha just ignored the rules. Sam went with the flow, “I’m just a leaf in the wind."

Steve crept into the bathroom. He could see the shadow of Bucky sitting in the tub; the shower running cold. He could still hear the thump, thump noises. He reached to pull back the curtain and found Bucky with his back against the wall, his bare feet propped on either side of the faucet fully dressed in the sweats, the cold water pounded down onto his chest and abdomen.

The thumping noise: Bucky had a softball sized water ball that he was tossing against the wall at his feet and catching or not catching as the water deflected its flight.

“Hey, you ok?” Steve asked as he turned off the water, ending Bucky’s cold water soak.

“Yeah. 'um ok.”

“Ah, you have your clothes on.": Steve remarked as he closed the lid on the toilet and took a seat.

“Yeah. They had paint on ‘em. I figured you’d be mad if I put ‘em in the laundry basket.” He stuttered out, trying to hide the shivering.

“Well, I guess I can’t fault your logic on that point.”

Steve sat there for a moment letting his gaze take him in. Bucky had gained some weight, lost the dark circles under his eyes, his color pale but better; his chest and thighs filling out.

Sometimes he hurt from wanting him. 

Bucky kept throwing the ball and catching it every few throws. Steve noticed it was only with his right hand.

“I, I’m sorry. I keep fucking up.” Bucky’s voice pulled Steve from his daydreams.

“No, not true, you’re better; you’re not fucking up." 

“Come on, Steve, I’m a wreck. I can't’ get out of my own way. I’m nothin’ but a burden.”

“Stop it. I’m not going to listen to this bullshit. You’re not a burden.”

“I can’t even paint a wall for god sakes. Its paint on a flat surface, how difficult is that and I screwed it up.”

“Buck, you’re just getting back on your feet, you nearly died; you were so messed up the serum actually failed. Cassie said it would take weeks to get your body and thinking back on track. It’s been all of 2 weeks, be patient with yourself.”

Bucky stopped tossing the ball. “And then what: take the meds, get better, whatever the hell that is; then I do what, learn to cook, get a job at Denny’s?”

He tossed the ball again harder and missed it on the bounce. "I kill people Steve. I wreck stuff and never look back. That’s what I do. What I’ve done for seventy years, you think all of a sudden I’m gonna get domesticated?”

“Yes, Buck I do. I think you can do anything you set your mind to do. It’s been two weeks; you have no idea where this is going. No idea what kind of life we could make..."

Steve nearly let it slip. The “together” word.

He replayed his last sentence to himself, “No idea what kind of life we could make together." He wanted that life with Bucky.

“You’re not a burden. End of story.”

Bucky kept tossing the ball; catching it every third or fourth try.

“Steve, I’m a grown man, fully clothed, covered in paint, sitting in a tub of cold water for the third time today. How functional am I really?”

“Three times?” Steve had missed the first two episodes.

“Yes. Three times.”

“Do tell?”

Bucky offered, “I tried to make a protein shake in the blender. The lid wasn’t on tight, it exploded, all over me, all over the kitchen, the ceiling, everywhere. You were outside with Birdman.”

He paused for Steve to laugh at him; then continued when that didn’t happen.

“I cleaned it up before you came back in.”

Steve noted, “Well now I know where the 5 rolls of paper towels went to. And his name is Sam. Sam Wilson. Not birdman.”

He made a mental note to add a new rule; “No name calling.”

“What was the third thing?”

Bucky groaned. ”I don’t remember.”

“Really? You don’t remember?”

No. I don’t remember. Remember, I’m the one with the fried brain history, so yeah I don’t remember.”

But he did remember. He was trying to work on the maps he had hidden under the whiteboards in the tactical room. Of course, that damn Birdman had uncovered it so everyone knew about it. He had wanted it to be a surprise, wanted to show Steve he could help, that he wasn’t completely useless. He was trying to piece together the information and had a whopper of an anxiety attack. Sweats, palpitations, even the damn voices came screaming back. He didn’t want to take the cold shower; he knew Steve hated that coping mechanism. But he found himself in the bathroom anxiety puking and there it was, just calling his name. The shower. Cold water comfort.

Bucky kept throwing the ball, harder and harder. Kept catching it every few bounces.

‘Anyway. I’m a loser and that’s all I’ll ever be.” He added with his best 'poor me' inflection.

“Stop it.” Steve snatched the ball mid-air before Bucky could catch it.

“That’s your damn voices talking. And I don’t want to talk to them or listen to them. It isn’t you, I don’t accept that.”

Bucky was a little shocked at Steve’s reaction. It didn’t convince him to feel differently about himself but it was nice to hear Steve defend him against his own crappy head.

“And what is this all about?” Steve demanded as he held up the sopping wet ball.

“Nothing.” Bucky looked away. He leaned his head back against the wall and debated telling Steve the truth.

Steve stared at him waiting for an explanation. "You’ve been in here for an hour, soaking in cold water and bouncing this ball against the wall with your right hand. I can see you're missing it; that’s not like you. What’s going on.”

“Cas…Cassie gave it to me.”

He had a hard time saying her name like it was too personal to say a woman’s name. He never said Natasha’s name either. Not even Romanova. 

He never used Birdman's name on purpose. He enjoyed being an asshole in that respect.

“I cut a tendon." He whispered. “It’s damaged and not healing right. She wants me to work on it.” He did this to himself when he cut his arm. His psychotic depression and self-harm could have huge ramifications. He couldn’t hold a weapon, couldn’t steady his hand. Bucky believed the only identity he had was as the Winter Soldier; he was a fighter, an assassin, a soldier and in a fit of insanity he hurt himself and may never be able to do the only thing he did well.

Not that he wanted to kill people but he had hoped to start making amends by taking down every remnant of Hydra still out there.

“No wonder you’ve been dropping things, is that what happened with the paint? And the blender?” And about a dozen other broken items in the past two weeks.

Bucky shrugged, but never looked at Steve.

“Cassie cleared you to work out, right?”

Bucky nodded yes.

“Then we start working out together. We both have work to do so let’s get started. The serum has kicked in, Buck, we can make this work. Ok?”

“You're annoyingly optimistic.” He gestured “gimme” with his right hand to get the ball back.

Steve handed it over as he pointed out, “Your toes look like prunes. I can only imagine what your ass looks like after sitting in cold water for an hour.”

Bucky laughed then flashed Steve the hint of a wicked smirk, a spark in his eyes; he tilted his head coyly as he countered with "You wanna check it out?”

Steve caught his breath. There was Bucky, his Bucky. In that smirk, in the words; in the sly way, he tilted his head when he asked the question. 

There was a quick flush across his skin as he blurted, “No. No, it’s ok. Very funny.” He jumped up awkwardly from the toilet and stumbled towards the door. “I’ll get the laundry basket and dry clothes.” He shot out of the bathroom wishing he had the courage to have said “Hell yeah.”

Bucky was full of regret immediately. He squeezed his eyes shut and bumped his head back into the wall, “Shit. Why the hell did I just say that; spooked him.” He resumed tossing the ball against the wall, harder and harder, catching it every time, until he missed and it thwacked him in the face.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve woke early the next day and headed downstairs. A quick check in Bucky’s room, as he did every morning. The door ajar; Bucky always left it partly open enough so Steve could peek in without it squeaking. It took a lot of threats to get him to not lock it, then a whole lot of persuading to leave it open even a little. Bucky’s paranoia, not something the medications would tame anytime soon if at all. Then again he had plenty to be paranoid about.

Bucky wasn’t in there.

“That’s odd.” Steve wandered downstairs. It was just getting light out. He could still smell the fresh paint from last night. He paused as he walked past the newly hung drywall.

It was painted. He turned to stare at the Birdseye Maple wall. There were no spills, no stains, no messes. ”Sam must’ve finished it.” He thought. “Wait a minute, Sam left last night.”

He started searching for Bucky in earnest now. It didn’t take long to find him curled on the chaise lounge on the deck, sound asleep. Steve crept close enough to be sure he wasn’t hurt and was still breathing, then he grabbed a quilt from the sofa and covered him. It was barely 45 degrees out and Steve couldn’t help himself, he wanted to wrap him up to keep him warm.

Steve set about making coffee, when he saw Bucky sitting on the chaise with his feet on the deck he grabbed two mugs and headed to join him.

“Here you go.” Steve held out the oversized mug filled with hot chocolate towards Bucky’s right hand. He reached with his left but Steve avoided it and pressed for him to take it with his right hand. Bucky frowned then relented.

Steve settled on the chaise next to him. The two of them on the single person lounger forcing them closer. They silently bumped mugs and had the first sip of their morning ritual; it was a tiny patch of routine they had started to create for themselves.

“So you painted the wall last night; it looks good, nice work.” Steve offered with all sincerity.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence a while longer. Bucky wrapped in the quilt; Steve’s thigh so close to his that he could feel his warmth; the comfort of it outweighed the anxiety it stirred.

Bucky was staring at the gold colored cord that was around his right wrist. He gently ran his metal fingers across it.

“You open the card yet?” Steve wondered. Bucky hadn’t spoken about the medical team since they left. He was clearly affected by their goodbyes but wouldn’t talk about them.

“No.” he whispered.

“Don’t’ you want to know about the cord?”

“Yeah. But.” He bit his lip in hesitation. “I haven’t cried in 3 days. I just thought it would be good to not cry for a few more days.”

“Maybe you won’t cry about it. Anyway, so what if you cry."

“Yeah, well I’m tired of crying and puking; actually, just want to wait.”

“Ok. Your choice.”

Steve was more than a little curious about the cord. The young woman Alex was unusual; strong, quiet, quirky and held her own with Bucky during their care. He scared the heck out of Steve and Sam at times during the medical stay but Alex never flinched. Even if Bucky didn’t seem to remember her well, she affected him, he was more than a little thrown by her kiss on the cheek; and he never removed the cord once she put it on his wrist. Even for the cold showers.

“How ‘bout a work out and some breakfast.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s thigh and headed for the kitchen.

Bucky stared at his thigh. “Damn.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve was sitting at the kitchen island reading over a report that Sam had faxed over. The whole "let's work out together" plan rapidly went sideways so he decided to sift through the Hydra intel that Sam found in the tactical room. He hoped beating up Hydra on paper would channel his frustration with Bucky’s lack of focus for disciplined exercise.

They had gone to the basement to start working on their respective right arm injuries. Steve instructing Bucky on the proper number of repetitions, the right amount of weight for how long, all the finer points of strengthening and good body mechanics. He instructed, demonstrated, shadowed and finally gave up.

”Hydra didn’t have a gym ya know.” Bucky huffed out.

“Well, how the hell did you stay fit all those years, Buck. You had to be doing something.”

“Yeah, Steve; they dragged me out of the freezer, threw a gun at me, and shoved me into the streets to fight. On the job training.” He shot back.

“Come on, they had to train you at some point.”

Bucky sprawled on his belly on the floor mats, face to the floor as he groaned “Yes Steve. They trained me, 70 years ago, you would’ve loved it. Very formal, grueling actually, you’da been their star pupil.”

“Come on Buck, I’m just trying to help. You want to do this right or it won’t heal.”

“It’s ok. I’ll try again later.”

“Get up, come on.” Steve put a hand out to help him up. Bucky ignored him.

“Buck, get up, you can do this.” He pushed at Bucky’s hip with his foot.

“Let’s go, get up.” He rocked his hips gently back and forth.

Suddenly Bucky rolled away from him with the last push, and in a graceful, sweeping move, was on his feet facing Steve; out of his reach.

“I’m done, for now, Steve. Ok?”

Steve was surprised at how quickly he pulled off the move. “Well, that was a sweet move.”

Then he caught Bucky’s expression. It was the look of panic. Wide-eyed, clenched jaw, tense shoulders, but his hair looked great; tousled and hanging in his face. Steve groaned to himself.

“Ok, no problem, I’m sorry if this triggered something for you. I don’t want to push you.”

Bucky bolted upstairs.

He let Steve think it was about being triggered. That his panic and abandonment of the gym was somehow related to old history with Hydra. Maybe in some weird way it was but really it was about Steve. He couldn’t bear being that close to him. Steve had a short sleeve T-shirt on, wrapped tight around his chest and arms; he had some kind of thin pants on that clung to his ass. Bucky quickly became distracted. He caught himself watching how his muscles tightened and relaxed; how it felt to have Steve’s hands on his skin; bracing his arm, touching him, helping him lift the weights just right; standing so close he could smell him. His brain was on fire.

He had to get out of there, he wanted to grab him, pin him to the floor, and, choke him. “What the fuck?”

“Choke him? Where the hell did that come from?” Panic filled his mind. That was when he threw himself face first on the floor, trying to wrestle with his mind for control.

He hadn’t had any threatening thoughts since starting the medications. Well, no threatening thoughts towards people; well towards Steve.

Birdman didn’t count.

He tried to never think about the Red Head.

The final straw was the rocking on the floor. Steve’s foot on his hip, rocking him back and forth on the floor. Back and forth on his cock, while thinking of Steve. It was too much to bear. Better to act like a ‘crazy person’ and run out of there than let him see: one, that he had a fleeting thought of hurting him and two, his cock nearly got a little bit hard. “Wow. When has that happened lately?”

He gave some serious thought to a cold shower but opted for 5 minutes of cold water on his face and biting his nails.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve stared intently at the photos that Sam had printed and then transcribed into sheets of names, dates, and locations. Natasha had translated the Russian phrases and added some context. It was everything that Bucky had scribbled on the walls downstairs. As much as Steve wanted to bring Bucky in on the data mining, it wasn’t a good idea. He was better but he couldn’t tolerate much pressure; found it hard to focus for long and although he tried to be present, he often descended into a blank stare that gave them all spine-tingling uncertainty. “More time” was the unified response when he asked Nat and Sam to weigh in.

He poured over the papers on the island. He only vaguely noticed that Bucky was pacing. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen, back into the kitchen. Stop and stare at Steve. Pacing again. Around the island. Behind Steve. Stare at Steve. Pace around the island. Stare at Steve from a new position.

“Buck, what’s up?” Steve finally asked without looking up.

“Nothing.’” He kept pacing.

“Really? Nothing?”

“All good. Really.” Stare at Steve some more, then pace.

“Buck, seriously, what is wrong. You’re pacing and staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

Bucky paced to a stop next to Steve. Staring.

“What’s on your mind, buddy?” Steve turned to take him in.

He was dressed in those damn black sweats. Again. Steve considered burning them. Then again, it wasn’t like Bucky could go shopping. “This is all my fault. I need to buy him different clothes.” Steve’s rambling thoughts stopped short when Bucky interrupted. “Those papers are about me aren’t they?”

Steve slowly slid his hand over the papers and refocused on Bucky. “No, they’re not about you. That’s being a bit paranoid, right?”

“No. It's not.” He stared hard at Steve’s hand covering the papers. His jaw clenched.

“Ok. It’s not _about_ you, Buck.” Steve said firmly. “But, it is some of the intel you wrote out on the wall. Sam’s been working on the intel, he’s been researching it, we’re sorting it out so we can act on it eventually. We’ve just gotten started.” Steve paused and took in the suspicion written on Bucky’s face. “We didn’t want to upset you.”

Bucky cut him off. "So you left me out? You don’t trust me?”

He took a step towards Steve, fists clenched, body tensed a little too close now; Steve tried to sit up straighter to match Bucky’s posture without being a threat; he worked to get his feet beneath him just in case.

Bucky glared at him for a heartbeat or three. "I wouldn’t trust me either.”

His stance deflated, he bit his lip hard then turned to walk away.

Steve grabbed his sleeve. “Buck, we talked about it. We just don’t want to overwhelm you, it isn’t that we don’t trust you, that I don’t trust you, I do.”

Bucky tugged away and without looking back mumbled “It’s ok. Like I said, I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Steve thought about going after him but opted to let him work it out on his own. He replayed what Sam had advised. ”Don’t be so damned co-dependent.”

“What the hell is co-dependent?” It made perfect sense when Sam pointed out; “You jump to wipe his nose if he sneezes; you try to soothe every emotion he has; you cover him with a blanket if you think it’s cold out; do you have any idea how many times a day you ask him  'You, OK?' Come on, man. Let him be a grown up; let him learn to process his own emotions!”

Steve reluctantly turned back to the paperwork.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky hated how he felt most of the time. Depressed, angry, confused, scared, tired, the list went on and on. “Oh, right don’t forget inept, stupid, dirty, a failure; well this is productive, isn’t it” he chided himself. At least he had 10 seconds of clarity to lecture himself over the laundry list of negative thoughts he entertained. He was sitting on the floor of his room staring at the open grate on the floor. He could hear Steve on the phone talking about the paperwork and him. "He's talking to Sa….Birdman. Whoa, I almost used his name; maybe those meds are kicking in?”

He began bouncing the ball against the wall and catching it, every few tries.

He could hear the one-sided conversation pretty well. He tried to not listen. It really fed his dark side as Birdman called it when he was going on one day about “The Force” and some guy named Darth Vader. Bucky tuned him out after awhile, smirking to himself “Yeah, they think I’m crazy.” But he understood the concept of a dark side. He knew his dark side was damn powerful and he would rather let it go away.

He kept bouncing the ball and catching it.

He heard Steve say his name. “Bucky knows we’re working on this.”

Then "He painted the wall last night.”

“No, Sam, painting a wall doesn’t mean he can handle the intel work. But it does mean he’s trying.”

“I know we agreed to leave him out of this part, but we should keep re-visiting that.”

“He deserves to be included, Sam.”

Bucky threw the ball hard against the wall and didn’t bother to try and catch it. Instead, he jumped up to grab the bureau and drag it loudly across the room to cover the open grate. He didn’t want to hear them argue about him anymore.

<<<<<<<<

 

Steve glanced up from the growing pile of paper on the island, coffee cup rings on some of them, to find Bucky standing in the kitchen, staring again, but he was dressed differently. Almost. He had the black sweat pants on, a dark green sweatshirt, (Steve’s) a baseball cap (also Steve’s) with his hair pulled back in a ponytail and gloves on.

Now Steve was the one staring.

“I’m going running,” Bucky announced.

“What? You hate running. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I need to get moving. I need to do something. I’m going running.”

‘Are you sure?” Steve was thrown. A long list of horrible outcomes ran through his head. He hated this idea but didn’t want to make a new rule.

“You think its safe to go out in daylight?” Steve’s first try to prevent the run.

“You want me to run at night? You’ll find my lifeless body in a ditch the way I’m going lately.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll change and go with you. It's not safe alone.” The second try; go with him.

“No. You’re busy and I’ll be fine. I have a metal arm, ya know.” He wiggled the metal fingers at him.

“You sure it’s a good idea on the medications?” The third try; appeal to his common sense.

“She, Cassie, said ‘Get moving, James’.” He mimicked her voice a little.

“I hate this idea. Will that stop you from going?” Steve tried a direct approach.

“No.”

Steve gave up. “Ok, then, ok.” He got up and started hovering around Bucky, who squinted at him skeptically.

“Take a water bottle with you.” Steve started tearing through the cabinets trying to find the biggest water bottle they had. "You know the medications make you dry and you’ll get dehydrated so you need to take this with you and use it. He added as he filled it up and handed it to Bucky.

“You have the phone? Take the phone. Is it charged? You sure it’s charged? Let me see it.” Bucky dutifully displayed the phone to Steve, proving that it was charged and in his possession. “Put it in your pocket, no the other pocket.”

“Why do you care about which pocket it’s in?”

“You have a hard time getting your metal hand in the sweat pockets, I noticed, so put it in the other pocket so you can get it quickly.”

Bucky shook his head on purpose and rolled his eyes.

“Sunscreen! Oh no, we don’t have any sunscreen. Shit. You need it. The medications make you super sensitive to the sun. You can’t go. We need to get some. I’ll put it on the list.”

Bucky started laughing. “Steve, look at me. Seriously. What part of me is not covered right now?” He stood with his arms stretched out from his sides and tilted his head to one side to demonstrate that literally nothing on him was uncovered except his chin. “I think we can forgo the sunscreen today.”

Steve stopped his mothering or smothering as the case may be. And looked at Bucky.

This was going to be the first time Bucky left the house on his own in the 6 weeks since they came home. Steve thought, “I’m next for the nervous breakdown.”

Steve instructed:“Text me. Repeatedly. Every 15 minutes.”

“What?"

Then rapid fire instructions: “I’ll worry. Text me. Never mind. I’ll text you. No, you text me. Don’t talk to anyone. Which way are you going? How far?”

“Steve. Stop it. I’ll be fine, really. Where can I go? Up the road and back down the road.” Bucky smiled. “I need to do this.” He wanted to pull Steve into a hug; felt himself reach, but couldn’t risk it. At least he could hold onto that warm feeling when he saw how Steve was worried about him.

“Right. Ok. I’ll be right here. Waiting.” Steve reached out and patted Bucky’s shoulder nervously.

“Buck, you look good.” He was thinking, "Amazing."

Bucky smiled again as he moved to open the back door and step out into the world.

“Thanks, mom.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

NMD: You ok???

No answer from JBB.

NMD: Hey…you ok????

Still no answer from JBB.

Steve was glaring at the phone perched on top of the intel papers. It had been fifteen minutes, no text messages. “Damn. I need to go after him. He’s not answering.”

“Five more minutes, then I go after him.” He pawed through the papers but his eyes wouldn’t focus.

The phone dinged.

JBB: Ok.

NMD: Good! Keep texting.

JBB: Stop it.

Fifteen minutes later…

JBB: You ok?

NMD: Waiting.

JBB: Relax.

NMD: Done yet?

JBB: No. Relax.

NMD: Where are you?

JBB: Stop it. Not getting much running in if I have to keep stopping to text you! RELAX.

Steve tried to refocus; to let go of controlling this situation. Bucky was out of the house, running of all things; and texting back. He even asked if Steve was “Ok.”

“So far so good. Just let it go. Let it happen. Be a leaf in the wind.” He told himself. Sam was always saying that leaf thing but it was hard to not think the other shoe was going to drop.

He went back to the papers with a bit more attention when the phone dinged.

“That was fast.” Bucky had just texted 5 minutes earlier. He checked the phone.

UNKNOWN CALLER: We need to talk.

Steve’s heart skipped a couple of beats. No one unknown had that number.


	10. Old Friends Calling

 

Bucky glanced back at the old yellow farmhouse, tucked at the end of a dirt driveway curving through a thick stand of pine trees. The road he was heading for wasn’t visible from the house. No idle chatter from Steve to distract his always present sense of dread. The assassins' defenses crept into his awareness; and grew exponentially with each tentative step. He tried to distract himself with less ominous details:

The grass was mowed around the house. “Steve can mow?” 

His practiced eye did a quick threat assessment of the woods, roof, and sky.

“Look at how blue the sky is," skipped briefly through his hardened thoughts.

“What the hell is that hammering noise?” His step hesitated. He noticed the source: a small black and white bird with a red head.

“Shit. Another redhead.”

A warm breeze brushed his face; he crammed down the urge to enjoy the caress.

His dread was fighting in earnest now with the urge to be human. Every step away from the house was feeding his fear, disrupting his training, making him vulnerable.

_"Focus! You idiot."_

Bucky’s steps ended abruptly with a shudder. His mind tripped over the voice in his head. "Well. Hello. Enjoy your vacation?”

_"Sarcasm with me will only end in pain, you know that."_

“Let’s just get something straight, right here, right now, you are not real. You can only hurt me if I let you do it. You do not call the shots anymore.”

_"So sure of yourself now, Soldier, taking the medications. You think that will banish me? You’re the fool Hydra always thought you were."_

“No doubt. But you aren’t my handler anymore."

_"You can say I’m not your handler, for now, but you can’t survive without one, that is how Hydra made you."_

“Hydra didn’t make me. They tortured me. They broke me.”

_"You are alive today because of the handler. Admit it, you’ve just traded one handler for another."_

“Fine. You win, you're right. It’s Steve. He’s the handler. Happy now, asshole?”

A ping on the phone shook him from his self-dialogue.

NMD: You ok???

He struggled with the intrusion into his reconnection with the Voice. “Who the hell is NMD?” then reality pushed back in; it was Steve. "He said he would text me.” Bucky’s mind swung back into the external world. Steve was texting him already, 15 minutes into his run and he’d barely left the front yard.

He thought about ditching the water bottle once he actually got to the road. ”I look like such a dork." But Steve had insisted. "Can’t disappoint Steve.”

_"Good job Soldier, obey the handler, even if he’s an idiot."_

“Shut up. You’re not invited on this run.”

But the rest of his psyche was on board:

“Anxiety; check.”

“Paranoia; check.”

“Nausea; check.”

“Dread; check.”

The dead; not so much anymore.

The thought of Steve; check. “Not my handler.” He added as an afterthought.

“You can do this, Barnes. It’s just trees, birds and grass. No sweat.”

Fifteen minutes later the phone pinged again. He stumbled at the vibration in his pocket. “Come on Steve.” He mumbled as he dug the phone out and dutifully texted back.

“Ok.”

He took the moment to do another threat assessment. “Grass, trees, fencing; no drones, no choppers, no vehicles, no houses; lookin’ good.” Bucky let a fleeting relaxed thought in: “This is a hellava lot easier than urban work.”

He focused on the details of a split rail fence along the side of the road as he ran. Counting his steps between each post; matching his stride to the distance of the next post with the same number of steps each time. He felt his mind become obsessed with the strides, making each effort the same as the one before.

He stumbled hard as the vibration in his pocket knocked him from his methodical counting pace. “Wait, just wait. A few more steps."

He made it to the next divisible by three number of posts, his counting obsession had escalated with his anxiety; he settled down against it to rest and juggle the water bottle and phone.

HOUSE: NEED YOU TO ANSWER RIGHT NOW.

Bucky had missed the last few text messages. “What’s with the house phone?” He wondered as he let his sense of his surroundings falter. He gave in to his out of shape body and the pull of Steve on the phone.

JBB: WTF?

“He’s worried about me." He smiled.

JBB: YES MOM

“He hates that.”

JBB: I may call you mom but you are not my mom.

“I miss my mom.” He sighed.

Something hard suddenly drove a searing pain into his right shoulder.

_"Dropped your guard, Soldier, that handler’s going to get you killed."_

Bucky jerked forward, trying to break the grip on his shoulder. He was in a completely compromised position, sitting on the ground his back to an open field.

“Fucking idiot." The only thought he’d allow himself. He spun to his right and groaned as he yanked free and rolled to his knees to face his assailant. His left hand clenched and shot out at the black mass moving away from him. He fell forward with the force of the aborted blow; his assailant was a horse.

The big black animal snorted loudly and jerked its head up and away but didn’t run. It merely danced sideways a few steps. Bucky looked up from his hands and knees; “What the hell horse; you bit me!”

He tried to calm his pounding heart. “Settle down Barnes, it’s just a horse." He sat back on his haunches and slowly stood up to face the animal eye to eye.

“You don’t know who I am. I could’ve killed you.” He whispered as the horse came closer, clearly not intimidated. He stepped towards it; pulling off the right glove to reach out slowly, reflexively to let it sniff his fingers. “Not too close though, you nearly ate my shoulder."

_"Stop this drivel! You think you’re some kind of horse whisperer? It isn’t afraid of you because you’re weak, you’ve lost your edge. No one is afraid of you, no one has respect for your abilities anymore, Soldier, except me. I know your potential."_

Bucky rolled his eyes at the Voice as he remotely heard the phone ping again.

“Shit, where is it?" He frantically searched the road and grass.

It pinged again. He grabbed it just before the horse stepped on it.

HOUSE: Please come home. Right now.

Dread crept back in.

JBB: What’s wrong?

HOUSE: Nothing.

“Yeah; I know what ‘nothin’ means."

JBB: What happened???

HOUSE: Just need you home. NOW.

JBB: On my way.

Bucky took a few steps back towards the house then stopped. “The water bottle." He scanned the ground where he’d been sitting; nothing. Then he spotted it. The horse had it by the handle and was tossing it around the field. “Taunting me, huh?”

He briefly thought about finishing that punch he aborted earlier then let it go. “I’m gonna tell Captain America what you did. He’ll be pissed.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve stared at the phone message from the Unknown Caller.

“Who else has the number?”

“Cassie?” Her number was programmed into his phone. Besides, she wouldn’t have been cryptic.

“Stark?” Steve had sent him a phone, but that number would have identified him; not come in as an unknown caller.

He grabbed the house phone and conference called Natasha and Sam.

“We have a problem. I just got a text from an unknown caller; it said 'We need to talk.'"

Natasha groaned, “Destroy that phone; maybe you should get out of there.”

”I can’t leave right now.” Steve was thinking about Bucky out on the road alone.

“What? Then as soon as possible, Steve.” Natasha’s frustration was clear.

Sam moaned, “We should have never shut down the surveillance in the house.”

He had fought hard to keep it in place after Bucky tried to kill himself. It had saved his life.

But Steve had sided with Bucky over it the day after the medical team left. “Sam he won’t come out of his room. He’s already ripped the camera out of the wall in there. He can’t function if he’s terrified of cameras in every room.”

“He’s an international terrorist Steve." Sam countered.

“He is not a terrorist, he’s a POW that was used shamelessly.”

“Ok, poor choice of words. He’s an internationally wanted POW that was shamelessly used to do terrorist-like activities and is currently psychotic.” Sam tried to reason with Steve to not only keep the surveillance but to beef it up. Bucky won that battle.

”We don’t know yet what’s going on Sam, but if it has to do with that I will owe you a very big apology.”

 

Steve turned his thoughts to Bucky after he ended the call to Sam and Nat. “I just heard from him, he was ok, just need to get him back here without making him panic.”

HOUSE: You ok?

No answer from JBB

HOUSE: Answer me.

No answer from JBB

Steve headed for the garage “No, nope. Please don’t let him be captured by anyone."

HOUSE: I need you to answer right now.

He grabbed the keys and straddled the bike when the phone pinged:

JBB: WTF?

HOUSE: R U OK?

JBB: YES MOM!

HOUSE: Thank you. Enough running. Come home now.

JBB: I may call you mom but you are not my mom.

HOUSE: Please come home. RIGHT NOW.

No response from JBB.

Steve started the bike. "Fuck him. He’s so fucking stubborn. I’m going to handcuff him to me when I get him back here."

He nearly missed the last text between his ranting and the sound of the engine.

JBB: ON MY WAY.

<<<<<<<<<<<<< 

 

Once Steve received the JBB message, he turned back to deal with the unknown caller.

“We need to talk.”

He recalled something Bucky had said; “Paranoia is my friend. It keeps me safe, don’t knock it.” Steve started ruminating over all the ways they had been careless in the last 6 weeks.

He grabbed a burner phone from the tactical room and settled in the office off the kitchen. ”Sorry, Buck. We need to do this.” He apologized as he reconnected the house surveillance system. “Maybe with the medications he’ll tolerate this better.”

The green “on” light lit up on the camera in the kitchen as the split screen views flickered to life in front of him.

 

He dialed the unknown number.

A voice answered.

 

“I’m glad you called me back.”

Steve paused before he answered. He knew the voice well. ”Hello, Sharon.” “How have you been?”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky ran as hard as his out of shape body would allow. He concentrated on getting home. "Correct that; Steve’s home.” But his heart wasn’t in the correction.

When he finally arrived at the house he was soaked with sweat and "Panting like a damn dog...summer...Brooklyn." He staggered in the back door calling “STEVE.”

Steve didn’t answer, but Bucky heard him laugh.

“What the hell? I just killed myself coming home cuz he sounded worried and he’s laughing?”

He pulled off the gloves, hat, and sweatshirt to keep from passing out as he doubled over, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. The T-shirt he had on was dripping sweat on the floor. ”Maybe I should just shower before he sees me."  Bucky worried about how much of a mess he was in Steve’s eyes. He pulled his hair free from the hair tie and slipped it on his wrist with the gold-colored cord as he started past the office.

Something caused him to stop short of the door. Another voice in the office with Steve. “That ain’t one of my voices and it ain’t Wilson or Romanov.” He noted with some panic.

“There’s someone else here? What the fuck is he thinking?”

_"So much for being a good handler; he’s invited strangers into your den."_

“Shut the fuck up." He crept closer to the wall by the office; he could see just enough to tell the person talking with Steve was on a video feed. He struggled to hear past the blood pounding in his head.

 

“I’ve been busy Steve. Very busy.” The caller offered.

“Hope you’re not overworking yourself.”

“Well isn’t that how we work anyway?” She laughed in a way that implied familiarity.

Steve laughed with her like they knew one another well.

            “Jerk.” Bucky was jealous already.

“So why the unlisted number?” Steve ventured.

“Caution. We can’t be too careful these days.”

            Bucky totally agreed. “Right.”

“So you’ve been busy too, Steve.” The caller challenged.

            “Who the hell is that?” Bucky wrestled with his memory.

“Not too busy.” Steve offered vaguely.

             “God Steve, that was lame.” Bucky shook his head.

“I have reasons to believe otherwise.”

            “What?” Both Bucky and Steve thought.         

“Really? Well, you know more about me than I do then.” Steve laughed.

“That might be true.” The caller retorted. Bucky nodded in agreement.

“I know where you’re living. I know you’re running with the Widow and Falcon.”

            “Don’t bite Steve.” Bucky coached silently.

Steve laughed, “Well I’m not exactly in hiding."

Bucky knew there was a whole lot more to come. He braced his back against the wall, leaning his head closer to the doorway to hear every word of what was next.

“Maybe you should be. I know you’re not alone. I know you have an asset that a lot of people are looking for.”

Steve kept his face and posture impassive. If not his mind. “Shit, why isn’t he back here yet.” He hadn’t heard Bucky call his name.

Bucky slid down the wall as his knees buckled. There was that one word. It summed up every painful memory. "Asset.”

Every sliver of hope he had gathered in the last few weeks disappeared at that one dehumanizing word from someone Steve seemed to regard as a friend.

_"You’re such a fool, child. They’ve found you. They won’t take care of you the way I did, the way Hydra did. They’ll lock you up for the rest of your pathetic life. We can give you work to do, praise, safety, love even if you want it."_

Bucky fought to get his head back into the moment.

“Lie, Steve, Lie. Don’t leave it open like that. Come on.” Bucky’s stomach rolled as he waited for Steve to say something.

Steve’s jaw tightened at the word ‘asset’ but he tried to not let her see it. “What makes you think I’m not alone?”

“I don’t want to make the same mistake you have.” She retorted. “But in short; you told us. Your phone calls. Your text messages. We picked them up over 3 weeks ago and have followed ever since. The asset is unstable and you need help. We want to help.”

_"Your new handler and his friends are idiots…you see, lovely…they don’t know how to protect you. They were careless with you. Walk away now…get away from this handler."_

Bucky shook his head trying to dislodge the growing fear. “Steve told her? Not on purpose? He texted my location, my name? What the hell?” He was pulled back into the moment with Steve’s answer.

“My texting a name doesn’t mean anything. He was my friend. As my friend, I’d be concerned about his safety. But as far as I know, he’s on the run.” Not a lie technically, he thought. “Do you really think we’d just set up house-keeping and plant a garden? That’s ridiculous.” Steve’s mind flashed to the patch of lawn he had just dug up out back “because Bucky used to love cucumbers and tomatoes.”

“So now you’re being cautious? And with me of all people? After what I did for you?” The woman sounded irritated.

“Paranoia is my friend.” Steve offered as he thought…’wish I had cultivated that friendship sooner.’

Bucky’s mind was stuck though on one sentence: “He was my friend” “was” being the operative word.

_"He doesn’t want you…he only helped you because he felt guilty…you fell…he left you behind…it was to calm his own guilt…you’re so fucked up he’d never want you…get out now before he turns you over to her employer."_

“Do not act like a fucking scared animal….think, Barnes, think.” He desperately lectured himself as his head began to shake.

“I think we should meet, Steve…I don’t want to say anymore this way. As I said, we need to talk and I don’t want to make this situation any worse.

“Alright, Sharon….maybe so. Since you claim to know where I live…I assume you’re nearby…where are you staying?”

_"Get on your feet, Soldier, time to move."_

Bucky was so nauseous he was afraid to lift his head, afraid to stand up. 

_"Time to confront him, trust me. I’ll guide you through this."_

Bucky struggled to place the woman caller.

“I know her. She was there in Berlin with the CIA. I fought with her.”

“But she helped us there, didn’t she?”

“She’s the one.He kissed her.” Bucky had a rush of strange emotions start to overwhelm his already fragile thinking.

_"Get up Soldat! You don’t want him to find you sniveling on the floor do you?"_

Steve clicked the phone off and the video feed went blank. He sat staring at the screen “She’s still an ally, just need to stay calm when he gets here, no need to upset him, the less he knows the safer he’ll be.”

Movement by the door caught his attention. He stood to face Bucky standing just inside the office, looking every bit as threatening as he did on the helicarrier three years earlier only much, much angrier.

“Shit. He heard it all.” 

 

“I trusted you, Steve. I trusted your stupid friends.” Bucky growled, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I know you did, we don’t really know anything yet, please.” Steve tried to calm him.

“I heard what she said. You texted my name, my location. You used my name so they could find me. You said you’d protect me, Steve. Now they’ve found me.”

Steve could hear his friends’ desperate panic growing in his voice despite how angry he looked.

“No, she contacted me to help us, not to take you in. Please stay calm about this.”

“Stay calm? I’m the one they want dead, or locked up in a psych ward or buried under the ocean. You were Captain America, no one’s going to lock you up even for helping me!”

Steve stepped towards him, palms open and wide, trying to project something non-threatening. “Buck, come on let’s sit down and make a plan. I have some ideas...”

Bucky cut him off abruptly. "NO more talking! No plans." He gasped as his head shook trying to dislodge the screams.

_"Get out of here, get out. Grab what you can and leave, you know they’re on their way. He isn’t going to protect you. I will. Hydra will. We can find them again, you know where to look."_

“I know you don’t trust her but she helped us before. That should count for something." Steve cautiously moved towards him.

I promise we’ll do better, please don’t give up on us.” He could hear Bucky adjust the plates of his arm, shifting to gather energy.

Steve angled his body to soften his approach; hoping Bucky would let him get close enough to contain the growing explosion.

“Please don’t give up on…me.” He said softly as he got within reach.

“Please keep trusting me." He whispered as he drew next to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, smell the musky odor of sweat from running, and his fear. He felt certain that if he could wrap him up as tightly as possible. He could contain the explosion. Could stop the unraveling.

 Bucky was visibly shaking as Steve’s hands rested on his upper arms and began to slowly slide towards his back to wrap around him. “Hold me…” he heard his brain say quietly. But the Voice wouldn’t let those words come out.

_"Don’t be such a fool. He’s using you, baiting you, he’ll wrap himself around you to trap you and give you up later. He’ll go meet her and deliver you like a gift. Let him think he’s won you over, then we’ll go."_

For a moment he let the embrace begin, let Steve’s arms around him, he allowed the comfort of Steve’s touch, then his body stiffened, he drew back.

Steve looked at him, searching for Bucky. He wasn’t sure he saw him. But the tension of the rage seemed less; the fear in his eyes seemed to change to confusion. ”Maybe he’s ok, maybe it worked.”

Bucky staggered back and pushed past Natasha and Sam in the doorway and disappeared upstairs.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Well, that was tense. Sam stated. “At least there was progress; no one got hurt.”

The three of them moved to the kitchen island so Steve could fill them in and decompress.

“Do you trust her, Steve?” Natasha trusted very few people and that was always open for re-assessment.

”I did…I do…but haven’t talked to her since Berlin.”

Sam offered to go with him to the meeting.

“No, Sam I need you to get the surveillance back up full force.”

Their conversation was disrupted by the sound of furniture loudly being moved overhead. “He rearranges the furniture in his room…I think it’s an OCD thing.” Steve shrugged away the noises.

Sam glanced up; the heating grate caught his attention. He could see the dust get dislodged and fall down onto Natasha’s shoulder. He heard the faint clunk of the grate opening. He frowned as he waved at them and pointed up to the grate. “He’s listening.” Sam mouthed to them when they looked back at him.

“Well, that explains a lot." Natasha thought as she went back over the last few weeks of “How did Barnes know what we said about him.” “The little shit.” 

Steve forged ahead. “Sharon said she wants to help us.”

“What kind of help is the question,” Natasha added.

“And who says we need help?” Sam was skeptical.

”Well, the real question is what does she want in return?” Natasha added but Steve thought he knew the answer. Sharon, whoever she was working for, wanted Bucky.

“I know this is a tough decision, Steve. He’s upset but you need to go see her. We need to know what we’re dealing with.” Natasha was worried about both Steve and Bucky. “I think seeing her face-to-face is the best way to get answers. She lost her job with the CIA after the Berlin fight so she could be on our side or be out for revenge. The only way to get a handle on this is to see her.”

“Let’s get you set up with a tracker and a comm. Let’s get back to basics here.” Sam headed for the tactical room with Steve in tow.

Natasha stared at the ceiling with a large amount of concern.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky heard all he needed to hear. Steve was going to see “that woman” and likely make the deal to give him up. He needed a viable plan. “No sense just running out the front door screaming like a big baby.”

“Ok Barnes, make a plan. If they see you walk out of here, one of those three idiots will chase you down. The Red Head will taser you into submission. Steve will cry and fawn all over you and break down your better sense of self-preservation. Birdman will probably let you go….at least he has the good sense to step out of the way.”

_"Stay calm, Soldier, don't rush this. Steve will leave soon, the others will be busy. Let them think you’ve settled down, just another temper tantrum."_

He took a quick shower; a hot one. Changed into the jeans and henley that Steve had gotten for him on his first day out of cryo. He went to the kitchen, loaded his arms with a box of protein bars, three apples, two boxes of raisins and the orange juice carton. “Hungry Barnes?” Sam asked as Bucky stalked past the office. He returned to the kitchen and pawed through the drawers to palm the only weapon he could find; a three-inch folding knife. Next stop was Steve’s room. He took the credit card he had ‘hidden’ in the sock drawer, and the vintage looking baseball cap with the Brooklyn Dodger’s logo.

“I don’t want to go…” He argued with himself. Well with the Voice.

_"We need to go child. It isn’t safe here anymore. I’ll take care of you."_

“He means well ya’ know. He didn’t do this on purpose.”

_"The way to your death or imprisonment is paved with good intentions._

“That isn’t how that saying goes."

_No matter, Soldier. It’s still true, let’s get going while there’s still time."_

Bucky made one last check of his room. He stuffed the food into a small backpack he had hidden in the back of the closet. He reached to take the gold-colored cord off his wrist then hesitated.

_"Let it go, Soldier, it’s a meaningless trinket. It will only serve to hurt you."_

Bucky paused. He looked at the unopened card the girl had given him with the cord.

“No. I’m keeping it. You’re not in charge. Not today.”

He grabbed the card and stuffed it in his back pocket, pulled his sleeve down over the cord on his wrist and climbed out the bedroom window, onto the porch roof and silently dropped to the ground.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Natasha was sprawled on the sofa finishing off the chocolate peanut butter ice cream that Barnes forgot about. Sam came by to test the camera angles.

“Have you seen Barnes lately?” She asked. “He’s been awfully quiet.”

“I saw him in the kitchen a little while ago. Getting food. He took it to his room.”

Nat stopped eating. “What kind of food?”

“Protein bars, raisins, fruit.”

“Shit.” “Sam…check the basement.” She jumped from the sofa, tossing the ice cream and ran upstairs.

“Barnes. Open the door. I need to see you. I need eyes on, Barnes!”

She tried the door. It was locked. Clearly violating the no locked doors rule.

She picked the lock. “Privacy be damned.” She thought, besides, she was completely confident that he wasn’t in there.

Sam came running up the stairs…”He’s not downstairs, what’s going on.”

They stood in Barnes’ room. It was hard to tell if anything was missing…he didn’t own anything. But the window was open and he was gone.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve spotted Sharon sitting in a quiet corner of the hotel lobby. She was dressed in nondescript clothing; hiding in plain sight. Her blond hair was cut short; her face betrayed the stress of the past several months.

She gave him a warm smile when their eyes connected “Good to see you, Steve.”

“You too Sharon.” He returned her smile and warmth as he settled in a chair near hers “So let’s talk.” He had no desire to waste any time.

Sharon nodded “Ok, cut right to the chase then…we know the Winter Soldier is with you. We know he’s unstable. We want to help.”

“Who’s we?”

“My employer.”

“Seriously, Sharon…you’d give me that kind of answer…”

“My employer is in the business of taking down Hydra. They are an independent contractor, not working for any government organization.”

“Who is it? Give me a name.”

“I will. If we come to an agreement…but not yet.”

“What do you want from me?”

“We want the Winter Soldier.”

“Well, you came to the wrong man…I don’t know where he is.” Steve thought stubbornly: “I don’t know where the Winter Soldier is, but I know where Bucky is, and I’m not going to admit to it.”

“We know you brought him here; we know he’s with you still. The Winter Soldier is living right here in Hope, New York.” Sharon hissed.

“I can’t help you with the Winter Soldier.” He answered..truthfully as he thought to himself…'I can barely handle Bucky.'

Steve was struggling with the whole Winter Soldier thing anyway. He kept mulling over his resistance to her approach  'He’s Bucky…not this persona….not a commodity.'

'“Steve, would you like me to show you the transcripts? Photos? I have weeks of surveillance to prove to you we know his location. As recent as his run today.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me, Sharon? That is not gonna work for me. And frankly seems beneath you.”

“No…this isn't blackmailing.” Sharon softened. “This is a negotiation. He has information we want and need. You have him. You need help with managing him. You both need protection. We are willing to provide what you need to handle him if he gives us what he knows.”

Steve wasn’t buying it for one and second…he resented the whole 'managing him' reference. The way Sharon kept referring to Bucky as if he was a thing to be handled. Steve felt his anger turn cold.

“Handle him?” He questioned her.

“I’m sorry Steve…I’m not trying to offend you. We know he’s damaged and needs help. We have resources that would benefit both of you.”

This didn’t feel like negotiating, it felt like manipulation.

“If this was as benign as you’re trying to make it sound, why threaten me with transcripts and pictures? Why the unlisted number, the intrigue.”

Sharon leaned closer and whispered “Because we are all wanted. There are forces at work after all of us. You’ve been living in a fantasy world for the last two months with your BFF setting up housekeeping while the rest of us have been running for our lives.”

“I think we’re done here.” Steve stood up, ready to walk out. He’d text Bucky and send him to the agreed-upon rendezvous site and they’d run together.

“Wait. Steve, wait.” Sharon followed him. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long few months.” “I’m sorry. Please…let’s walk and talk. Just hear me out. We don’t want to hurt him, or you.” She was standing next to him now. Her hand was on his arm.

He wanted to trust her. Had trusted her in the past. “Ok…walk and talk.”

He’d remembered that he found her easy to talk to. Sharon was smart, funny, strong. He knew he was being defensive about Bucky; he was feeling guilty that he could have contributed to the CIA or some other police force finding him. Worse yet…Hydra. And deep in his heart he was still feeling overwhelmed by the depth of Bucky’s issues, wondering if some help wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Sharon’s tone lightened as they walked the sidewalks outside the hotel. “Let’s start over. My employer’s been hunting Hydra for months now. They’re only getting stronger, smarter, faster, richer. Their mantra appears to be true: cut off one head, two shall take its place. We can’t make a dent in their operations. We need better intel.”

“How did you hook up with this employer?”

“I fell in with our group after Berlin, he saved my ass. I owe him. Simple.”

She went on “We stumbled across your name with routine surveillance. I thought, where there’s Rogers there will be Barnes. So we started looking for you actively.”

“Hypothetically…if I knew where to find my friend, what do you think he could do? He hasn’t been with them in three years. He isn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He was an operative, not in their intel loop to begin with so what little information he might have had is likely irrelevant.”

“We believe his intel is more relevant than he even knows, Steve. We aren’t the only ones looking for him.”

Steve’s mind flashed to the wall of names, numbers, places in the tactical room.

“Yeah…the CIA, Interpol, the FBI…sure he is, was an internationally sought assassin. You think we...I…he doesn’t know that?” Steve stumbled.

“Yes…all of the above and one more…Hydra. They are actively searching for him. He knows something, maybe he doesn’t remember it. Maybe it’s just to regain their asset, but whatever it is…they are looking hard.”

Steve felt a coldness wash over him. They knew everything was a risk. Living in a house, in one place, the attempt at a normal-ish life: it was all a dream, a crazy idea. “We should have run.” He told himself but then he thought about Bucky’s break down; he tried to imagine how that would have gone while on the run.

“We know he’s unstable,” Sharon added softly.

“He’s better,” Steve added without thinking. “How? What makes you say that?”

“The calls, Steve. He hurt you.” She gently pressed her hand to his right wrist.

“He tried to kill himself, didn’t he? There was a medical team on site. Damage to the house.” She knew everything it seemed. They had stopped walking; she was looking up at him with so much concern on her face.

Steve shook his head. “I can’t Sharon.” He struggled with himself. “How does she know all this?” But he had to admit, once they found him…it would be easy to track the others, purchases, coming and going, spot the medical team.

He was drawn in by the concern on her face. The warmth of her hand on his arm. He debated “Tell her the truth? Walk away? Trust her? Run?”

Sharon sensed his conflict “Steve, it’s ok. I know you don’t want to betray him. We aren’t asking for that. But we need to make some decisions here. We’re willing to help but yes, we want something in return. We want what he knows. We want his help. We want him.”

She leaned in closer, moving her hand to his chest, her eyes met his. He let his hands slip around her waist to pull her in closer. He pressed his forehead against hers. It felt warm and comforting to be close to someone.

Sharon lifted her head, their lips brushed together gently then their kiss deepened. Her hands caressed his arms, her body pressed against his. Their embrace warmed as Sharon whispered, “Come upstairs.”

Steve let down his guard and gave in to the longing that always hovered in the back of his mind. Unnamed, unaddressed. He let her take his hand and lead him to the side entrance of the hotel. The kiss grew deeper, hands explored, warmth grew between them as he followed her down the hall, pressed against her back when she keyed through the door. 

"Steve” Sharon whispered as her hands fingered his hips, drew across his belly then stroked down his growing erection.

He drew in a quick breath at her touch, pulled her tighter into their kiss. 

She stepped back, tugging at his hips, pulling him towards the bed.

He’d actually stopped thinking at all when the first kiss deepened. His brain had switched to his cock and he went with it. The overwhelming ache for touch filled him. She tapped into this pool of emptiness he hid from the world.

He pressed his hips tight against hers, they fell onto the bed, his hand slipped beneath her shirt, the heat of her skin under his fingers pushed him further into the moment; his hand brushed against her breast, her thigh pushed up against his cock. 

That pressure right there, that moment of contact; her thigh, his cock. It led to one flashing image, reality knocked on his needy door.

Bucky. Suddenly it was his leg, his mouth, his long dark hair.

Steve jumped up. 

“Steve? You ok?” 

“I’m sorry, Sharon, this is not a good idea. I have to go.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing.

“Steve, wait, I get it. Maybe we got ahead of ourselves, you’re right.” She straightened her clothes as she moved away from him nervously.

Steve paused at the door “I'll give your offer some thought." He clarified, "Your request about what he might know.”  

“Steve, we need an answer soon. You, both of you, don’t have much time.”

“I know, you’ll have an answer in the morning.” 

 

Steve straddled the bike and made his way home. All the unsatisfied longing he lived with for so long before the ice and after it; now seemed clearer than ever before. His encounter with Sharon solidified everything he thought he knew about his own feelings. 

With every touch, each kiss, every minute of wanting it all came down to Bucky.

“Well, that was enlightening.” 

As he pushed the bike to ever greater speed, the roar filled his ears, the vibration did nothing but tease his cock. He made one resolution, "I am going to slam him into the wall and fuck him stupid when I get home."

"If he’ll let me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Отвянь. Fuck off.


	11. Sometimes You Run

 

Steve rolled in long after midnight. He resisted the urge to run in the house yelling “Bucky.”  Instead, he kicked off his shoes at the door and took the stairs three at a time to land at his wide open door.

“He never leaves it open. He’s gotta be here somewhere.”

Sam’s door was open, so was Natasha’s so “Maybe downstairs bonding?”

He hurried through the empty living room and finally landed in the basement. The light in the tactical room was on. "Maybe he’s under the table. Sam’s going to be pissed if he had to ‘Barnes sit’ all night down here.”

Steve rushed in to find Natasha and Sam at the far end of the room; she was balanced in a chair tilted back with her feet propped on the table; he was hunched over a pile of papers and maps. A wall of images on the computer screens behind them; they barely looked up as he ran in.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve leaned down to search under the table only to be disappointed.

Sam gave Natasha a sideways look as she unperched herself and sat up straight.

“Steve. Oh, look. You’re back."

Sam sighed and spun the chair around to scan the video from the surveillance “The system’s up and running bigger and better.”

“Impressive.” Steve barely looked at the screens. “Where’s Bucky?”

Natasha softened a bit as she crossed to stand near him.

"We’ve searched every inch of the house, the property; reviewed the surveillance a hundred times...”

“Where is he.” Steve’s jaw tensed as he stared at her.

“He’s gone, Steve. He ran."

Steve let out a slow breath, “No. He wouldn’t do that.” 

“Sam was able to piece it together from the videos. He’s gone.”

“No. You’re wrong, he’s hiding here somewhere, he does that when he’s upset." Steve was shaking his head as he turned to leave but Natasha grabbed his arm and pulled him around to look at her.

“Steve we saw him go, on the tapes. He’s not hiding here Steve." She snapped, "He isn’t a child running away from home by hiding in the cellar.”

“Here, why don’t you watch this for yourself?” Sam added as he cued up the footage.

Steve and Natasha turned to face the screens, her hand still on his arm. A grainy image opened on the main screen; a view of the garage and beyond towards the east. Someone moving cautiously through the frame, then past the garage and off towards the thick woods; leaving very few tracks as he used the terrain to his advantage.

The image was clear enough to reveal who it was.

Steve slumped back against the table’s edge. “Bucky?” 

Sam swung around “It’s time-stamped 5:15 pm.” He paused then added, “We didn’t realize he was gone until after seven; he had a two-hour head start.”

Steve stiffened, “You didn’t notice he was gone for two hours? You were supposed to be watching him.”

“We were right here the whole time. He was walking around the house, like any other day” Sam protested.

Steve faced him,“Like any other day? Sam, come on, he just found out Sharon’s group is looking for him, knows where he is; you saw how upset he was."

Sam angrily continued “He walked past me at least three times; he showered, thank god, and changed his clothes; rummaged in the kitchen for food."

“And he walked right past you and out of the house.” Steve leaned across the table towards Sam.

“Stop it.” Natasha barked. “He played us, that’s what a good operative does. And we, all of us, need to start giving him the credit he deserves.”

“Played us?” Steve finally choked out.

“Yes. Played us; all of us.” Natasha leaned back against the wall.

“Are you trying to say he’s been triggered? He’s the Soldier? I don’t think I can go through that line of thinking again.” Steve’s voice trailed off.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Natasha clarified.

“We’ve watched the video for hours” then added, “while you were gone.”

Steve didn’t notice the slight sarcasm in her voice.

She continued “He’s Barnes…not the Soldier…he’s not possessed, Steve. He’s trained. A highly trained….assassin; like the word or not. And, if he’s hearing voices or hallucinating, it’s not interfering with his functioning, at this point.”

Sam manipulated the video to back up his narrative “He purposely moved past us repeatedly so we would notice him, but not what he was doing. After seeing this, we pieced together what he took: food, a small folding knife, a burner phone.”

Sam didn’t mention his watch. "That asshole” he had thought when he discovered it was missing.

Natasha finished with “And something from your room.”

Steve stepped closer to the screens to study the images of Bucky going through his bureau. “A credit card. I had it hidden in the drawer. He knew about that?"

Then he watched as Bucky took something from the closet shelf, stared at it then tucked it in his jacket pocket before leaving the room.

“We couldn’t make out what he took from there.” Sam sighed.

But Steve knew what it was. “He loved the Brooklyn Dodgers, I had a vintage ballcap I wanted to give him when he was better.” He quietly admitted as he started to regret some of his choices recently.

Sam and Natasha looked at one another, a silent question passed between them. Natasha nodded. Sam pulled his lips into a tight line. “So we want to show you something, Steve.”

Steve had slumped into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Sam, maybe later. I need to think this through…”

Natasha cut him off, "Whatever you’re telling yourself stop it. One self-dialoguing team member is more than enough. And frankly, Barnes does it better than you now, at least, he’s functionally psychotic which gives him even more of an advantage. We need to focus. Are you capable of that?”

“Nat, that was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Steve protested.

She drawled “You have not seen harsh yet.” As she pulled him to a chair in front of the screens and settled down next to him.

Sam started: “Ok this is the first camera online just after you reconnected the surveillance.”

Natasha looked at him “And just before you called the unknown number.”

Steve could see himself in the office and heard himself say “Hello Sharon.”

A few moments later Bucky stumbled into the frame and called Steve’s name.

“He got back earlier than I thought. I didn’t hear him."

They watched as Bucky pulled off the sweatshirt, and start to pass the office door but then get distracted by Steve’s voice.

“He was outside the door the whole time.” Steve murmured.

Natasha gave him a hard look. “How’s he look to you, Steve?”

Steve was confused by her question but suggested: ”He looks…great…”

Natasha corrected him “Pick a better word.”

Steve tried “Awesome."

Nat groaned “How about something that doesn’t reference sexual innuendo.”

Steve protested, "I am not referencing sex."

She raised an eyebrow.

Steve looked closer at the image of his friend. “He looks confident, strong, sure of himself.”

Suddenly Bucky’s confident body language crumpled like he’d taken a hard gut punch. He slid down the wall next to the door.

“Wait? What just happened?” Steve blurted out.

Sam rewound the tape and said, “Listen.”

Steve leaned closer to the screen as they watched it again.

He heard Sharon say “You have an asset with you.”

Sam replayed it again “Let me clean up this audio for you.”

Steve heard it the second time but listened again to the third replay. “Asset.” He whispered as he watched the word take Bucky away.

“I’ve seen enough," he blurted as he rose to leave.

“SIT.” Both Natasha and Sam spit out.

“What’s the point of all this…he heard me talking to her. He’s upset about the word she used. What we need to do is to find him.”

Sam frowned as Natasha explained. “This is an intervention, the one we should have had weeks ago. Sit down.”

He slowly dropped back into the chair. “Intervention? That was for Bucky.”

“Well we were all so sure of ourselves back then weren’t we?” Sam suggested as he resumed the video review.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Sharon has changed, Steve. You can hear it in her choice of words. Her attitude. Whatever allegiance she showed before might not be reliable now.” Natasha turned to prop her feet on the table again once the video review was done.

Sam stood up and stretched before he limped over to the cold coffee pot. “We blew it with all the texting and calls; but he was so messed up, I just never thought anyone would notice it.”

“What happened to you?” Steve was afraid Bucky had something to do with it.

“Nothing. I twisted it checking outdoor cameras.”

 

Natasha allowed a quick smirk to come and go as she recalled how it really happened.

“Sam, it’s too dark and we only have these cheap flashlights. We need to head back.”

“No, Nat, we need to look a little more. I should’ve never let them disconnect the surveillance. I should’ve never texted his name. We let him down, Nat, we need to find him and...SHIT.”

Sam tumbled down an embankment face first in the dark. Luckily the ankle was twisted and not broken. It took her an hour to drag him back to the house.

“No doubt, Bucky enjoyed that little show, Sam.” She teased; since she was positive Bucky was close by and saw the whole thing.

 

Steve rubbed his face as he ruminated about “lessons learned.” As Nat had so pointedly shown him, he hadn’t protested when Sharon called Bucky an ‘asset’; he didn’t confront her when she said they knew where he lived; hell he didn’t wait to tell Bucky about the call to begin with. Then as he argued with Bucky he dismissed his fear with ‘stay calm. She was an ally.’

Nat had been brutal in her assessment “What Bucky heard was ‘I pick Sharon over you’.”

“That is not what I was thinking, Nat.” Steve tried to protest.

“Look at him Steve look at what her words did to him. Look at what our choices did to him when he finds out we were school children texting about him.”

Steve closed his eyes but all he could see was Bucky’s head shake and twitch; his fear; then his dialogue with the voices. He’d thought when he hugged him it worked to contain his rage. “He let me think a hug would fix this…” Steve murmured.

Natasha stared at him a moment. “Sometimes love doesn’t fix things, Steve. Sometimes it gets in the way. But what would I know about love, I’m a Widow.” She added as she dropped her feet to the floor.

“Same could be said about sex,” Sam added from across the room. “I mean about not fixing things; not about being a Widow and knowing about sex.” He waved his hand as he mumbled “Whatever.”

“Nice transition, Sam.” Natasha stood up to pop her back. “Speaking of sex, Steve.”

“What?”

“Sex and the offer of sex is a tried and true tactic. Simple, crass some might say, but a direct and very, very effective tool. Covert operative lesson 101.”

“What are you talking about, if you're going to lecture me about Bucky, my feelings about him are all platonic he’s my friend."

Both Sam and Natasha smirked as Natasha went on. “That is a conversation for another day. Tonight’s conversation is about Sharon. She batted her eyes and your brain stopped functioning.”

“Ok, what are you talking about?"

“Your meeting at the hotel, you never asked any of the hard questions. You didn’t confront her when she called him an asset. You only walked away when she threw the truth at you.”

“The truth?” Steve bristled.

“That you were living in a fantasy world setting up housekeeping with your BFF.”

Steve recalled the moment, although it felt like it happened a week ago not a few hours earlier. He wanted to protest more but it was becoming clear Nat and Sam were right about a lot of things.

“You’re right, I blew it.”

“I’m not finished….”

“Great.” He sighed.

“She played you like some novice virgin schoolboy.”

He wanted to clarify his status but thought better of it.

“Sex, she used sex, Steve.” Natasha pulled him up from his chair.”When you tried to walk away she pulled you back, touched your arm, right? Pulled in closer.” Natasha demonstrated each move as she said it. Showed him exactly how Sharon had moved. “Then she looked up at you, looked deep into your eyes and parted her lips.”

Steve blushed bright red at Nat’s demonstration.

“You’ve made your point.” He conceded as he pulled away from her.

“I’m sorry Steve but stop thinking with your dick.”

“I left the comm active, didn’t’ I?” 

“Yup.” Sam tapped on the table.

Natasha shifted gears “The good news is…”

Steve interrupted “There’s good news?” As he started to pace the room.

Natasha shot him a withering look and continued “Bucky took a burner phone; we tried to call it of course and track it but he didn’t turn it on and likely won’t until he needs it.”

“We can keep monitoring for when he does use it,” Sam added.

Steve welcomed a change of topic “And he took the credit card so we can track that.”

“He’ll use it once and then ditch it.” Natasha chimed in. “He won’t risk using it more than that.”  

“We checked some old news feeds from the D.C. fight and compared it to him now.” Sam wanted to be objective about things this time around “his stance, posture and movements aren’t the same really. You can see some similarities but …”

Natasha finished his sentence “He’s Bucky…he’s himself. He may be afraid; not feeling safe or trusting us, but himself.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks. Thanks for all of this.”

Natasha sat cross-legged on the table “So…the bad news.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “No.”

“He left the medications in his room.”

“Damn.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

He touched everything in Bucky’s room. Dug in the closet and drawers; it didn’t take long.

Steve knelt to look under the bed.

“Trust me, Steve we checked under the bed he wouldn’t fit.” Natasha leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“Just trying to find a clue.” He answered weakly.

“A clue to what? Where he went? Or a clue to why he went?”

“Both I guess.” Steve dropped on the bed, dejected.

“Are you interested in my opinion, Steve?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re getting it anyway.” She crossed to sit on the bed next to him.

“My theory: He is sitting up on that ridge to the south of the house watching us. Waiting to see who comes and goes. He won’t run too far. He’s Barnes, not the Soldier. He won’t want to leave you even if he’s pissed, disappointed or he feels he can’t trust us.”

“Will he come back?”

Natasha hesitated. “Not yet. Look, it took a lot for him to finally run. He had to feel he wasn’t safe here. He heard you actively court someone who sees him as a thing to be used.”

Steve stiffened but didn’t argue.

“I know we saw him have a breakdown but he survived out in the world for nearly two years away from Hydra, no medications, no support.”

“But now he has his memories, he remembers what he did for them. It haunts him, Nat.”

“I know. I understand, more than you realize, maybe.” She whispered.

“But he’s a survivor, that is what he does. Who he is. We all forgot that in our big “Project Barnes” plans. He’s also a highly trained assassin. I know you don’t like that word but it’s the truth. He has a skill set unlike nearly anyone else. He remembers that as well.”

“Ok, so what now? How do I get him back?”

“There you go, taking away his choices again. He knows where to find you. He chose to go. He’ll choose to come back. Or not. We have other work to do Steve if we’re going to help him stay safe.”

Steve struggled with that idea “I’d rather go out there and scream his name until he gets sick of hearing me and comes home.”

“Well, I’d bet that’d make him stay away even longer, Steve.” She drawled. “It’d appeal to his asshole cat-like nature to just ignore you.”

“Great.” Steve sighed.

Natasha stood and crossed to the doorway.

“My last bit of lecturing. Stop handling him. You may be a kinder, gentler handler than he’s ever had but still a handler.”

Steve groaned. “That’s harsh. How did I handle him?”

“You dressed him from your closet, Steve, figure it out.”

“Second item.” She continued as Steve tightened his jaw.

“Stop pining for him. If he wants you, he’ll open that door when he’s ready. And maybe he’ll never open it. He may never get past what was done to him, Steve. You need to tuck those thoughts away for a while. Just sayin’.”

“Excuse me? I am not pining for him” Steve’s face flushed red.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and called back over her shoulder as she headed for bed “Learn to masturbate, Rogers.”

 

Steve stood on the deck and watched the night sky; thinking about Bucky out there alone. He started to go down the road of picturing him being cold, scared, hungry. He stopped himself. He changed his mind. “Yeah, he’s probably enjoying his stolen supper; tucked into someone’s unused spare bedroom while they sit obliviously watching TV.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky had headed east when he left the house then swung south once he was beyond the perimeter cameras. He paused when he reached the peak of the ridge south of the house.

_"What are you doing Soldier? Keep moving you have a timeline."_

“Get over it, pal. I’m not going any further for now.” Bucky didn’t really want to leave but he wasn’t feeling safe; couldn’t think with all the chatter; the Voice in his head yammering on; the whirlwind of emotions stirred by the woman Sharon and how Steve had let her call him an asset.

_"This is not our destination. You know where to go, now get moving."_

“You’re not in charge, so back off.” He growled.

Bucky shook off the Voice and settled in 6 feet beyond the furthest perimeter camera. He was able to tell when Wilson got the system up and running as the tiny green light just above him flickered on in the dusk. A short time later he saw Wilson outside the house staring up at his open window. ”Well, now they know…took them long enough…professionals.” He snarled.

_"They’ll come for you soon, Soldier. He went to meet her, you heard her call you the asset, they’ll take you in, lock you up, use you. Time to get moving.''_

“Arrrgghh. Shut up.” Bucky moaned out his complaint as he pulled his hand through his hair and off his face. “Better settle in somewhere before it’s completely dark.” He told himself as he swung up into the crook of a cedar tree for the night. “Let’s see what time Rogers gets back.” He didn’t want to admit how hurt he felt that Steve had gone to meet the woman.

He was busy perseverating about the situation when the two figures with flashlights caught his attention as they moved across the field and headed in his general direction. “What the hell are they thinking?”

_"Searching for you Soldier. You should have run now they’ll find you."_

He shook his head to push the Voice away briefly.

Sam and Natasha were methodically swinging the flashlights back and forth, heading straight for his location.

“Romanova.” He growled. “I’ve underestimated her. Gonna have to change it up to stay ahead of her.”

He could hear their incessant chatter as they got closer and chided ”You’ve been away from the Red Room too long Romanova.”

He held still in the branches of the tree; consciously willing his arm plates to stay settled. They were nearly on him now, so close he could hear exactly what they were saying. “Nothing worth holding onto,” he thought as his brain turned cold to process their words.

The last thing he heard from Wilson was “We let him down, Nat, we need to find him and….SHIT” Followed by a long groan. Wilson had tumbled down the embankment that arced around Bucky’s location…the deciding factor in his choice of a vantage point.

Bucky had to scramble to grab his backpack as it tumbled out of his lap when he stifled his laughter. It only got worse when Romanova jumped across the embankment to avoid following Sam down the slope; her head damn near brushed his dangling foot.

“Shit, I’m going to wet myself.” He groaned silently as he tried to regain some composure. Later as he shivered in the night air, his squelched laughter warmed him as he thought of nearly peeing on top of Romanova’s head.

As he watched them hobble off towards the house he had two thoughts.

“Was that Wilson feeling bad about this?” And “I kinda miss them.”

_"Stop it, Soldier. They are only looking for you to bring you in. You’re nothing but a commodity to them. An asset, you heard the woman. Hydra will take better care of you."_

“I’m starting to really, really dislike you…mostly.”

Bucky’s stomach tightened when he heard the bike off in the distance. “That damn box of raisins I ate for supper,” he told himself, not wanting to admit the thought of Steve approaching would upset him.

He watched for one thing. No one followed him home.

He felt another wave of nausea as he thought about Steve coming home to find he had left. He imagined Steve looking for him in the house; realizing he stole the credit card; the phone; the cap; oh and the watch. “God, he’s going to be really angry with me.” He pictured Steve talking to Wilson and Romanova, his stomach cramped some more. The more he thought about how disappointed Steve would be, the more he realized he couldn’t go home.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

Steve spent the night rewatching the surveillance video of Bucky and going over the intel he had left about Hydra. Natasha and Sam brought fresh coffee with them as they settled in around him.

“Anything new?” Sam quizzed.

“Nope. No signs of him but I’ve been thinking about what I want to do next.” Steve sipped his coffee.

“What’s the plan.” Natasha yawned.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He stated emphatically.

“Ok, I’m intrigued.” Sam smiled.

“Sharon claimed Hydra’s after him. They want to take down Hydra. The closer we get to their intel the more likely it is we protect him.”

Sam nodded “She said they wanted Barnes? What’d you plan on telling them?”

“The truth. He’s gone.”

“You going to give them his intel?” Sam pointed at the wall of information Bucky had left behind.

“As it suits me and benefits him.”

“So where do we fit in?” Natasha quizzed.

“I can’t ask you two to do any more than you already have. You’ve been through too much and put your lives on hold for too long.”

Sam laughed “Seriously? You think I’m abandoning you at this point? I have no social life anyway besides the two of you, and of course, Barnes who is more entertaining than cable TV.”

Natasha was emphatic “I for one, want to see Barnes again. You, Steve, I’m a little sick of. But I’m in if it means we get to bring Dodger back home.” She gulped down her coffee and headed for the shower. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam started to laugh as he headed to the downstairs shower.

Steve looked confused and called as they left “Who’s Dodger?”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The agreed-upon meeting place was a little-used hanger at the local airport. Steve took the bike. Sam and Natasha took the pickup truck. Before they left Steve stood in the front yard and look towards the ridge to the South. He thought about what Nat had said: “He’ll stay close, the ridge to the South.” He imagined that Bucky could see him. He repressed the urge to wave..like a kid…”New day, Buck. Time to get back to being off the record Avengers.” He nodded slightly, got on the bike and was soon roaring down the dirt road.

Sharon stood alone at the hanger. Steve approached alone. Sam covered his six from the hanger entrance. Natasha was watching from 50 yards out with a clear view of the meeting place as well as the surrounding area. They were all geared up, weapons and all after a pit stop at the storage container on their way over.

“Sharon.” Steve greeted her tersely. “I see you’re alone.”

“Steve.” Equally as terse. “I don’t see the Soldier.”

“His name is Sergeant Barnes. Bucky to his friends or Barnes to some of his friends. He is my friend; past, present and future. His name is not Soldier, not asset, not crazy, not someone to be handled or managed.”

“Well someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Sharon chided.

“Actually, I didn’t sleep at all which gave me a whole new level of clarity about life in general.”

“As you wish. I don’t see Sergeant Barnes with you. I had hoped you’d see your way clear to work with us.” She bit out the Sergeant Barnes part.

“Sergeant Barnes is rightly abundantly cautious given his situation. I am here to represent him, at his request, and will bring your proposals to him for his consideration.”

“We want him here." Sharon stood firm.

“He won’t be here. You’ll need to work with me.” Steve was wearing his best Captain America persona, if not the outfit.

“There’s a single vehicle approaching the rear of the building, Steve.” Natasha’s whispered guidance tickled his ear through the comm.

“I understand you want to protect him but relaying information isn’t the same as actually seeing him. How do we know the intel is coming from him?”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it,” Steve replied.

Sharon smiled and took a step to close the distance between them. Steve stiffened.

“I’m not a threat Steve, to you or him.”

“At this point, our circle of non-threatening personnel is very small.”

“There’s one person exiting the vehicle and coming in the building.” Natasha updated.

“Suddenly so cautious…we practically had dinner with the two of you with your lax efforts at security and now…”

“Lessons learned. Thank you.”

“Bring him in here, now.” Sharon sounded irritated.

Steve shook his head “Again, Sharon, Sergeant Barnes’ choice is to not be here. I do not ‘bring’ him anywhere.” “Anymore” he added to himself.

“He’s unstable, you can influence his choices. Manage him."

“We’re done here.” Steve turned to leave.

 

“Now wait a minute, Cap, let's not get too hasty. Can I call you Cap? Or are you going by a new name?”

Steve stopped cold.

Natasha narrated what he was thinking. “Fury.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky squatted on the ground, elbows tucked between his knees; watching the house as the sun came up. His metal fingers absently playing with the gold-colored cord.

“Guess they slept in.” He frowned “obviously don’t give a shit that I’m gone.”

His grouchiness was well above his baseline given sleeping, or not sleeping in a tree.

Then he remembered the “Wilson and Romanova show” from last night and started laughing out loud this time. His enjoyment of their misery was interrupted by a buzzing noise that startled him for a moment. “What the fuck…" he mumbled as he struggled to quiet the watch on his wrist with a metal finger.

He smirked at the watch, “Wilson’s pissed.” He just had to take it. “Maybe he’ll understand eventually. It’s a worthy cause after all.” He sighed to himself as he dug through his backpack and pulled out the pill bottles; he read each label carefully; dropped the correct number of pills in his hand and shook the orange juice carton to gauge how much was left. He had just enough to swallow the pills.

As his mind had started to clear, he had a few strategic thoughts; he had stored the refills in the backpack, just in case.

Movement in the front yard caught his attention. “Where the hell are they going now?.”

Steve headed for the bike. He was dressed in dark pants, a black T-shirt, and a dark-colored jacket.

“Stealing my look, pal.” He grumbled.

Wilson and Romanova headed for the pickup truck, they were dressed in a similarly efficient manner.

He had a twinge of sadness as he watched Steve stare up at the ridge which was his viewing point. “Well, let me guess. Romanova clued him into her theories of Barnes movement.”

Steve nodded slightly and got on the bike. ”Was that for me, pal?”

He watched them drive off as his stomach rolled over. "Hungry, that’s hunger, not nerves." He told himself.

 _"He kissed her, remember. He wants her, the other two don’t care about you, the Widow has no loyalties, the Falcon is loyal to_ _Rogers_. Y _ou need to run now, my Soldier."  
_

“I am not your Soldier,” Bucky growled.

_"They’re going to turn you over, you know this. Don’t you? They’re going to meet that woman and give you up."_

“We’ll see about that." He murmured as he dug in the jacket pocket and pulled out a small object. He tucked it in his ear as he turned it on. Bucky knew that the noise of the bike engine and the endless chatter in the car would cover the click as his comm entered their network.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Sam glanced at Natasha as she fiddled with her phone in the car. “So where is he?”

“Who?” Natasha answered without looking at him.

“Who? Nat, you know who, Dodger.” Sam laughed. He had to admit, Natasha had outdone herself with the new code name for Barnes. They had spent a rather stressful night viewing Barnes like voyeurs and created some comic relief dreaming up code names for him. Laughing too hard at not so funny jokes:

“Snowman”

“Snowflake”

“Yellow Snow” Sam’s favorite.

“Jon Snow” Nat’s favorite

Before they finally settled on Dodger. He was dodgy after all and it was his favorite baseball team, AND he stole the hat. “Perfect!”

They had agreed to not tell Steve.

“I have no idea." She shook her head and then held her phone up for him to see.

Sam nearly went off the road trying to read her message.

HE’S ON THE COMM

“What?” Sam mouthed to her.

I HEARD THE CLICK...NETWORK SHOWS 4 COMMS

Sam shook his head and laughed.

“Asshole.” Sam grimaced at the thought of his missing watch.

Natasha poked his arm to look at her phone again.

DO NOT TELL STEVE

“Why not?” he mouthed again.

PLEASSSEEE COME HOME PULLLEESSEEE

Sam nodded in agreement as they both started laughing at the idea of Steve pining away for Bucky.

“So you watch Game of Thrones last night?” Sam switched to a topic he knew would really piss off Barnes.

“Yes! It was a great episode, wasn’t it? I just love Sansa’s hair.” Natasha gushed.

“It’s getting pretty Machiavellian now, Cersei pulled out all the stops.”

It was a long ride to the airport.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Once they rolled away from the house Bucky decided to move. “Where the hell are they going?” He had a fair idea though.

_"What’s your plan, Soldier? You do have a plan, correct?"_

The Voice was mocking him.

 _"Soldier, your plan? Are you going to walk to the town? Hitchhike? That metal thumb would garner plenty of attention and likely a ride. Go ahead, Soldier, hitchhike to town. "_ Bucky growled at the Voice. He was tired. ‘Already. So fucking out of shape.”

He shook his head to clear the cedar needles and sleepiness.

He pulled the pilfered hair scrunchie from his pocket. “Wonder if she noticed yet.”

It was black, of course, otherwise, he’d have left it; he pulled his hair up and into a ponytail, put the ballcap on; settled the backpack on his back, and started the 10-mile walk to town; listening to their mindless chatter.

“Fucking Thrones Game, what the hell are they talking about.” Bucky groused with irritation. After about an hour of walking, he couldn’t hear them anymore. “Shit. Too low.” He looked at the terrain and saw a higher elevation. “Maybe I can stay connected up there.”

He made his way up the slope and settled down on the highest open area he could find. After wandering a few minutes the signal in the earpiece came in clearly.

“His name is Sergeant Barnes to you.” Bucky swallowed hard as his stomach flipped.

“Barnes to some of his friends.” Steve went on; “He is my friend….”Bucky heard the whole little speech.

“What the hell is he doing?” Bucky worried. “They’ll come after you pal being my friend.”

Bucky felt the wind change and pushed the comm deeper into his ear. A cloud skittered past the sun and blocked it out. He was so intent on hearing Steve “finally grow some balls with that woman” he never heard the chopper overhead. He certainly felt the tranquilizer darts as they slammed into his back and thigh. ”Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with me. I keep dropping…my……guard.” His mind slurred his words. He staggered forward and swung around to see who his assailant was this time. His diminishing vision could only give him a big black horse “What the fuck? You again! I hate you, horse.” He stumbled away from it and towards the tree line.

_"Keep moving Soldat! Get to cover! You can outrun them if you get to cover!"_

“Oh right, now you’re being helpful," he screamed at the Voice. ‘Where were you when they snuck up on me. Huh?”

Bucky was staggering forward, falling to his knees every few steps, pushing himself back up again. The chopper hovered overhead, the sound filling his brain, wrenching terrifying memories forward; blood and screams and guns. The dust was swirling around him as something sharp wrapped around his struggling legs. He fell forward onto his stomach and tried to pull his legs free. Panic was overtaking his thoughts, drowning out even the Voice. “Help me..” he begged the Voice…but it had slipped away whispering

 _"No sense both of us getting caught_."

“Ok, ok, my arm is still free…roll, punch, keep moving, soldier….Barnes, no, I’m Barnes, keep moving.” He rolled over and swung his metal fist hard at the first figure closing in on him. He connected; the blow tossed the man across the clearing. He swung again as he sat up and heard the crack of the second man’s femur breaking from the force of the blow. “Screaming sounds good coming from someone else.” He was vaguely horrified by his own thought.

He reached to grab the bollo around his ankles and dug his metal fingers in as he tried to rip himself free. The deafening whirr of the chopper blades ripped at his hearing. “Three seconds, two seconds, almost there….” His eyes stung from the dust. His panicked mind was pushing him to hurry, to get free, get away, hurry, come on…..when he heard a woman’s voice speaking gently in Russian

<Pasha, my child, stop struggling so much. I’m not here to hurt you.>

Bucky’s fingers stopped moving. He heard himself draw in a sobbing breath, his vision wavered as his head shook hard; he looked up into the face of his past. She smiled as she held the chloroform-soaked cloth over his mouth and nose.

 

 


	12. Mother's Little Helper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in Russian are enclosed in < > these brackets.  
> матушка mother  
> дерьмо shit
> 
> Longing: желание (zhelaniye)  
> Rusted: ржaвый (rzhavyy)  
> Seventeen: Семнадцать (Semnadtsat’ )  
> Daybreak: Рассвет (Rassvet)  
> Furnace: Печь (Pech’)  
> Nine: Девять (Devyat’ )  
> Benign: добросердечный (dobroserdechnyy)  
> Homecoming: возвращение на родину (vozvrashcheniye na rodinu)  
> One: Один (Odin)  
> Freight car: грузовой вагон (gruzovoy vagon)

“Normally, I’d say it’s good to see you Fury but I’ve heard you’re looking for a friend of mine and you won’t take no for an answer.” Steve squared his shoulders.

“Good to see you as well, Cap. Although rumor has it you’re not Cap anymore.”

“I made a choice.” He shook his head. “No regrets. So what do you want with my friend?”

“Your friend is a wanted man.”

“I think we are all well aware of that. Why is he wanted by you?”

“We have credible intelligence that Hydra has renewed their interest in Sergeant Barnes.”

“How credible?”

“Straight from Hydra,” Sharon interjected. “We raided a splinter operation in Ukraine; we have solid evidence of intention to recover the asset.” She quickly added “Their word, not mine.”

“That’s not exactly news,” Sam added. “How specific is it?”

Fury picked up “They knew he was in Wakanda just after their base in Siberia was compromised.”

Sam and Steve exchanged a look.

“You still haven’t answered why you’re looking for Bucky? Sharon was insistent he come here today. Why couldn’t you go through me?” Steve’s voice was tense.

Fury sighed “We need his help, Steve. Hydra is growing again. We are falling behind.”

Sharon added “But the recovered intel had some disturbing plans. It would be better for him, you, and us, if he came into protective custody.”

“Protective custody?” Sam laughed.

“More disturbing than what they’ve done to him so far?” Steve pushed.

Fury picked up “Oh, yeah, they want to reprogram him as the Winter Soldier but they were highly disappointed in the loss of their investment in Siberia; they want to restart that program.”

“How would Barnes be part of that?” Natasha was skeptical.

Sharon answered, “There’s evidence of fledgling research for regeneration and stem cell use.” She paused then added “Even cloning.”

“Cloning?” Sam blurted out then groaned ”Clones of Barnes?” He stifled a laugh when Steve shot him a frustrated look.

Steve pressed “How do you know any of this? Are you speculating or is there evidence?”

Sharon handed Steve a folder. “These are photos of the documents we found. There were specific plans; his name is there, Steve. So is yours. They want him back for these experiments and more.”

Steve looked through the photos. He had to fight down the urgent regret of “We should have run.”

Then one phrase drew him in. “The asset remembers everything.”

Steve forced out a breath “His memories?”

Natasha and Sam crossed to look over his shoulders.

“What?” Sam was incredulous.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Now they want him to remember?”

Steve looked grim “70 years of wiping his memory and now this?”

Sam looked at Fury and added, “Ah, you know, he can barely remember to brush his teeth.”

Natasha smirked as Steve shot him another frustrated look.

Sharon picked up “He has 70 years of Hydra history and contacts in his head; after the fall of Project Insight and Shield, they are looking to regroup by mining old data. They believe he is the key to that data.”

Sam exchanged a worried look with Steve as they both thought about Bucky’s wall of information; still sitting there, unprotected.

“Sharon was quite insistent that Bucky come to this meeting, why?” Steve pressed.

Fury explained “As I’ve said, we need his help. But we feel he needs protection.”

“So you think we can’t protect him?” Natasha sounded offended.

“We think your security is lacking, to say the least.” Sharon was firm in her challenge.

“Not an issue anymore.” Sam defended. “Besides he trusts us.”

Sharon quizzed him “Really? He trusts you?”

Fury interrupted “We found evidence that Hydra is planning on offering a bounty for his capture. Three million dollars. Now it’s not out there yet but if that happens, every mercenary and bounty hunter will be on his tail.”

Steve frowned “You said protective custody. I can’t help but feel that implies locking him up.”

Sharon and Fury exchanged a glance as she answered softly “We feel he needs a secure location that would protect him and get him the help he needs. I know it might sound harsh but The Raft would be the safest place.”

There was a spontaneous unified response:

“Absolutely not.” Steve blurted out.

“No way!” Sam huffed.

“Over my dead body.” Natasha hissed.

“He would go there voluntarily, Steve,” Fury added.

Sharon added, “He could get the help he needs there.” She moved within an arm’s length of Steve “We know he had a breakdown, that he’s not stable.”

“He had a hard time for awhile and now he’s better. That’s old news.” Steve wanted to end the discussion about Bucky’s psyche.

Fury pushed “If he’s not stable…he’s still vulnerable. If he’s on the run how safe is he? How soon before they catch him and how much do you think he can take before they break him again?” He said out loud what all of them were thinking.

Fury went on “You’ve been living in an isolated house with lax security. Once we picked up your unsecured messages it was easy to find you, and him. As Sharon has said; Find Rogers and you find Barnes. Even Hydra knows that. You may not be able to protect him.”

Steve couldn’t help but think they already knew Bucky had run. He glanced at Natasha, she nodded; Steve signaled an end to the meeting with “I’ll talk to him about your offer, I wouldn’t count on his coming in, but I’ll talk to him.”

“Steve….” Sharon tried to push but Fury redirected “That’s all we can ask Rogers.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Shit, Steve we need to get rid of that wall of info asap.” Sam was agitated about their security issues as they regrouped near the airport.

“We need to find Bucky.” Steve sighed.

Natasha frowned “They know he’s gone.”

Sam and Steve nodded in agreement.

She went on “He has a comm, Steve. I caught the signal on the way over here but it dropped away; we’ll get it again. We’ll talk to him; warn him even if he won’t come home.”

“We’ll keep monitoring the burner phone and the credit card.” Sam was determined.

“Maybe Fury’s right, maybe we can’t protect him.” Steve worried.

“I trust Fury, Steve, and I will work with him, but The Raft? Not an option. No matter what, Barnes wouldn’t trust anyone but you.” Natasha reassured him.

Steve nodded at her gratefully then added “I’m going to stop at the clinic to tell Cassie in case he contacts her…and warn her, they may be at risk. If Fury knows about them, there’s a good chance Hydra does as well.”

Sam added as he started the truck “I got the wall and the phone.”

Natasha smiled “I've got the comm device and Bucky.”

Sam called to Steve as they drove off “Hey, they can lay low with us; Bucky will come home just to defend his hoard of Ben and Jerry’s.”

Luckily Steve didn’t hear over the roar of the bike as he sped off to warn Cassie.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

<Drink the water, child. You’re dehydrated.>

“Leave…me….alone.” Bucky choked out, past dust and dryness.

<It isn’t poison, dear, drink the water.>

Bucky let out a low growl as he tried to move his head.

<Stop that disgusting noise, you’re not an animal.>

He was hunched over on his elbows and knees on a dirt floor; his head resting on the ground between his forearms. “Don’t puke, do not puke...” ran through his head.

<Come now, drink the water…it’s right there in front of you.>

He heard her change positions from behind him; moving to his right.

The effect of the tranquilizers and chloroform had rocked his head; the pounding in his ears sounded like the chopper blades still overhead. “Damn I hate this part.”

<Refusing to drink water doesn’t hurt me, it only hurts you. You want to regain your strength, don’t you? Start by drinking the water.>

Bucky groaned then spit out low and angry “Shut the fuck up.”

The sudden zap of a stun prod hitting an object broke the quiet as the woman barked <Language, Soldat! >

Bucky felt a familiar rush of anxiety run through his body.

<That was a warning. The next time you speak to me that way, Soldat, I will be applying its bite to your skin.>

Bucky choked back a sob. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ cry. Barnes, do not give her that satisfaction.” He cursed at himself.

He was able to lift his head off the floor and get his eyes to flutter open. He could feel that his clothes and sneakers were gone; he was wearing a T-shirt and boxers. “Fuck…she undressed me…I’m gonna kill her…” hot anger filled his mind.

“Did you fucking enjoy that?.....Undressing me? ….Did it get you hot?” he hissed. He could hear her move again; closer. He forced his head to follow her slow pace around him as his vision blurred, hampered by his loose hair and the drugs. “Shit. Here it comes. Gonna pay for that." He groaned as the fire of the stun raced up his left arm and tore through his body. He bit his tongue trying to keep from screaming. The jolt left him curled on his side, shivering in the aftershocks.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve couldn’t sleep. It was 3 am; his thoughts were overwhelmed by the hurt on Bucky’s face the last time he saw him. “Damn, I keep screwing this up.” He moaned. It had been a full three days since the meeting with Fury. No word or sign of Bucky.

He tossed in the bed as he replayed Cassie’s words “He’ll be ok for a few days but abrupt withdrawal will be very hard. It would be important for him to get back on them soon, Steve.” All he could think about was Bucky’s impending descent into the darkness.

Steve found himself on the deck; “Slow down, deep breaths; get your shit together.” He chided himself. He turned his gaze to the stars. “Why didn’t I tell you how I felt about you?”

He heard Bucky's voice snark in his head “You’re such a dumb ass.”

“I know, I know. I should’ve run with you, Buck, I‘m sorry.”

Steve grabbed the deck railing, hunched his shoulders and consciously slowed his breathing before he whispered;

“I need you, Buck. Come home, pal, please come home.”

Steve felt Bucky slip away. He couldn’t fight the rising fear that Bucky was in trouble and wasn’t staying away by choice. The 3 am solitude made it clear: “I will follow you down to hell if I have to….and bring you home again, pal. Don’t give up.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

<We should not have to do it this way, child. We’ve been over this. I don’t want to hurt you.>

Bucky rasped out a laugh. “But you’re so good at it. Seems like a waste of your talents to just do what you want.” He rolled slowly to his knees and spit out the blood. His head was spinning from the jolt of the stun.

He pushed himself upright, resting his butt on his ankles; and turned his gaze towards the woman standing a few feet away from him.

<You’ve been gone too long, Soldier. Your keepers are worried about you.>

“I bet they are.” He murmured.

<We have much work to do before they come for you. I trust you will not be difficult.>

“I plan on being very difficult.” He growled.

<There is no point to senseless violence.>

“I agree completely. So let’s make a pact, no violence towards one another.”

<You know you will break in the end so don’t waste our time together with pointless resistance.>

Bucky closed his eyes to try and force down his growing fears.

“I could reach her if I lunged hard and fast.” He blinked to clear his vision. “I could crush her even with that damn prod,” he told himself. He watched her slow pace near him. “She was always a wiry little vulture that ain’t changed.”

With his clearing vision he realized, there were thick metal bars separating them. He was in a cage; ten feet by ten feet with a welded cage top; the whole thing anchored to a concrete foundation.

He settled his gaze on his captor; the years had left their mark, but her eyes were still the same. Her darkness was still there, dragging him back in; the dread he always carried connected with its roots.

It was an old game they played; she demands, he refuses, she hurts him, repeat. She had always won. As their eyes assessed one another once again, Bucky vowed “Not this time; no matter what you do to me; you ain’t gonna win this time.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Natasha walked the ridge south of the house. “You certainly didn’t forget your training, Barnes” as she marveled at the lack of any signs that he had been there. She had methodically scoured the hillside for hours without finding even a protein bar wrapper. “You’d make the Boy Scouts proud” she huffed.

She jiggled the comm in her ear and searched for signals on her phone.

“Come on, Barnes, I know you’re out here. This isn’t funny anymore. Steve’s heartbroken; you need to give this up and come home.”

She tripped over a root and fell to one knee. “I bet you thought that was funny. Ha. Ha. Jerk.” She was tired and hungry and pissed that he would stay hidden for this long. “Unless you’re not here.”

“Barnes no joking around things are damn serious here. Hydra’s on your tail, no matter how much you’re pissed at us, you know you can trust us, you know Steve would never let anyone take you or hurt you ever again.” Rising desperation was betrayed in her voice.

Bucky didn’t answer, but she thought she heard static. She tracked the signal; up to a slope; through thick underbrush; past a line of pine trees and into a large clearing at the peak of a hill. The signal from the comm jumped to active.

“Active comm but no Barnes?”

She forced her anxiety into a focused search and talking to Barnes.

“Barnes. He loves you. You know that don’t you?” Footprints. Sneakers. He didn’t cover his tracks?

“I see the way you look at him when you think no one is watching.” She examined the ground, there were signs of a scuffle.

“You do realize he moved the world off its axis to find you?” She took a picture: a hoofprint?

“You know he walked away from being Captain America for you?” Was that blood on the ground?

”You boys don’t even know it yet, do you? So dense, the two of you. How much you were meant to be together.” The comm signal was 4 bars now.

“Barnes. Something tells me you are in a deep shit right about now.” She picked Bucky’s comm out of the dirt at her feet.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

<So what’s your plan here, woman? > He growled out at her in Russian.

<The plan, Soldat, is to help you remember your glorious work over the past 70 years.>

“What the fu….what are you talking about?” he caught himself.

<Your keepers want your memories. I am here to help you remember.> She moved to the far end of the cage and pointed the prod at a water bottle on the floor. <Drink the water.>

“I don’t want the fuc….water.” He thought better of swearing again.

<You’re weak; too thin; you never even heard the chopper approach; pathetic.> She waved a dismissive hand towards him.

“I can’t believe I agree with you." He mumbled.

“And you’re going to fix all that, how? By chaining me up?” he spit at her. He grabbed at the chain cuffed around his left wrist; it snaked out of the cage and was bolted to a metal cross beam. She was standing next to it, stun prod in hand.

<The chain is a necessary precaution, child. You have proven yourself to be unruly in the past; no sense in wasting time.>

“You really think that chain is going to hold me?” Bucky snarled as he reached for the metal bars and dragged himself to his feet in front of her. “You really think this cage will hold me for long?”

<I have full confidence in the chain and the cage; they are made of vibranium; the same material that your precious friend’s shield is made of. You won’t be breaking it anytime soon.>

Bucky didn’t want to bite. He didn’t want to bring Steve into this mess even in words. He huffed out a laugh but groaned “Shit” to himself.

“Yeah, enough with the Russian I don’t really understand it much anymore. I know you speak English, so how ‘bout we go with that.” He lied. “So you want me to remember my glorious work?” He mocked her voice. She moved the stun prod hand to hand.

<Your memories are a precious commodity, Soldat.>

“What?” he feigned.

“You need to be obedient, Soldat. You do not ask the questions.”

“Like you? Be obedient the way you are?” He started to pace down the cage, grabbing each bar with his metal hand. “That’s worked out so well for you.” He mocked again. “You ended up here, in Upstate New York torturing people, same job, different century. I thought you aspired to more?” He smirked at her as he reached the end of the chain.

”I have always been a good soldier. That is my place.” She asserted.

“Of course you have. Always a good little soldier.” He reached for the far end of the cage; testing the limits of his chain; he couldn’t touch the door.

“You should be proud of the work you’ve done; your skills, your strength, and now your memories will serve your master. You are their asset.”

“I fucking hate that word” he raged in his head as he turned to pace back towards her.

“Drink some water; it’s been nearly two days.” She pushed the bottle towards him with the end of the stun prod.

“You just said I was weak, pathetic; how you gonna fix that? By torturing me? You’re gonna stun me into remembering? That oughta work well. You think running electricity through my arm is gonna make it work better?” He hauled angrily on the chain, trying to test its limits.

“Corrections, Pasha, not torture. I do not enjoy this.” She chided.

“What the fu….” He stopped himself again. “Her fucking corrections are working” he groused to himself. He rounded the cell again; searching his surroundings for failings; for clues to his potential for escape.

“Back to the plan. You think I’m just gonna remember everything I’ve done over the past 70 years?  We can just sit here and reminisce? Is that the plan?” His voice cracked with dryness and anger.

“I can help you remember, Soldat.” Her voice was low and cold.

He growled, “I know you can, woman.” A shudder ran through him as he stopped pacing and looked down at his bare feet “You can do this Barnes. You can fight her this time.”

Her voice broke into his thoughts “I need you to cooperate, child. It will be so much easier for you, for both of us, if you just tell me what you remember.” She moved along the bars slowly approaching him.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Sam was listening to Natasha’s Barnes monologue. He paused in his intel work when she said: “Steve loves you.” He pushed aside his comm mic; he felt the need to talk to himself.

“This self-dialogue shit is catching, Barnes.” he groused.

“I hate to tell you this but you really did remember a lot of details about Hydra.”

He resumed cataloging the details; matching it to Fury’s details.

“Some of this goes back to the 1960’s.” That thought made him feel sick.

“No wonder you puke….”

“Barnes, you’re a traveling man. I think you’ve been on every continent over the years.”

Sam tried to not let in the thoughts about how he traveled the world; how he moved through the years to end up here in 2017 still looking like a young man.

“Ok, let’s focus on the most recent stuff, that Ukraine cell was kind of isolated and new, not in your data but they reference an old contact, as old as your sorry ass, it seems. Looks like they got a dead-end, no literally, that operative was dead; maybe.”

"Where are you, Barnes?” Sam couldn’t focus. He pulled the comm mic back into place.

“Barnes, you need to get your ass back here right now. You can keep the damn watch, just come home.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

_"Turn the fear into anger, Soldier."_

“Welcome back, asshole.” Bucky snarled at the Voice. “Bout time you showed up.”

He turned his attention back to the woman.

“What I remember? You mean Brooklyn…crowded; poor; art classes.” He kept Steve tucked deep in his head. Protected.

He resumed pacing. “Or the war? Horrifying; dirty; a pathetic little man shooting crap into my arm.”

_"NO Soldier. Those are the memories she wants; don’t let her in there."_

“Right, what I remember. A truck dragging me; get up soldier, run or die, soldier."

_"Tell her about Steve tell her the good memories."_

“No fucking way, not Steve, she’ll use it against me. Whose side are you on anyway?”

“Soldat. What are you talking about.” The woman rapped the stun prod on the metal bars shaking him from his conversation with the Voice.

He stopped pacing and faced her. For a moment he thought he saw a younger version of her; dark hair cut short, hard eyes, matronly even at her younger age.

“What?” He shook his head then murmured “Right, what I remember, a tube in my nose to force feed me; strap me down to examine my body..." his anger was being diluted by the wave of painful memories; overwhelming him.

_"Wake up Soldier, you’re dropping your guard. You know you can’t do that with this one."_

He shook his head hard, his hair flipped across his face. He reached again for his anger.

“I remember you, woman.” He took a step towards her.

“I remember what you did.” He kept stalking towards her.

“I remember your words, your face; your touch.” He stood in front of her separated by less than a foot and firm metal bars.

“Those are not the memories I need, Soldat. I will ask you the questions. You will answer. You know how this works, Pasha. We are both too tired and old to fight. My will is so much stronger than yours. No sense making this harder on yourself.” A clear look of disdain crossed her face.

He spit out <Stupid woman.> as he suddenly slammed his metal fist into the bar directly in front of her face. He was gratified to see her jump even if he had to pay the price for it.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve got a call about the stolen credit card. “Where? You said it was used where?”

Sam and Natasha stopped reviewing the photos Nat had taken at the clearing.

“Ok, great, thanks.” He hung up and looked at them blankly.

“The suspense is killing us, Steve,” Sam spoke for both of them.

“Brooklyn. He tried to use it in Brooklyn. Close to where we grew up.” Steve sat at the island and stared at them.

“You think he’d go there?” Sam asked.

“I’m not buying it,” Natasha added. “It doesn’t fit the picture we’re building here.”

Steve shook his head. “So damn tired.” He thought but said out loud “Maybe he would try to go home his real home.”

Sam glanced at Natasha then “Steve, remember what we’ve found here. The video evidence of a chopper in the area that day; the comm in the dirt; Nat’s photos of footprints, blood, a fight, a damn hoof print; never mind the horse shit she stepped in on the way back.”

Natasha mumbled “Stepped in worse than that;” then changed pace. “We’ve practically put up a “Come home Barnes” banner on the roof and nothing. Even without the medications, I think he would have come back by now if he could.”

Steve countered ”It’s been over 10 days, the medications are out of his system by now there’s no telling what he’s thinking anymore. Remember he never came looking for me after Project Insight, there’s no reason to think he’d come looking now.”

It was hard for them to see Steve so despondent.

“I’m going for a run.” He suddenly said. Natasha and Sam looked at one another.

“We’ll go with you.” Sam offered.

Natasha shook her head “Not me, I’m with Barnes on this one running is a waste of good shoes. Besides I’m going to call Sharon and shake her down for more information. Honestly, Steve, I don’t know what you saw in her?” She complained.

Steve looked at her a little surprised “Ah, you tried to fix us up, remember?”

She huffed a dismissal and picked up the phone.

<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sam groaned out “Do not go to Brooklyn” as they ran the dirt roads heading north of the house. Steve kept running forward then back again to continue the conversation.

“How do I ignore that lead, Sam.”

“We don’t ignore it, we enter it into our calculations. It just happened, yeah, but by the time we get there he’ll be gone and we’ll spend the next 3 years chasing a ghost again.”

Steve knew Sam was right about the need to work smarter not harder.

He ran ahead again passing a split rail fence; a barn in the distance; another old farmhouse. He let in a thought of how peaceful it all seemed; when something caught his eye at the edge of the field. It looked vaguely familiar; he stopped running to examine it closer.

“Sam! Come on get up here.”

Steve was holding a mangled item when Sam caught up. “What is that piece of trash?”

“It’s Bucky’s water bottle.”

“Yeah, so he dropped it?”

“Sam, look." Steve pointed to the field.

Just a few feet away grazing peacefully was a big black horse.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

_"Hope it was worth it, pal."_

Bucky choked out a small laugh. “Oh, it was worth it alright.” He was lying on his back sprawled on the dirt floor shaking off the aftermath of the shock. When enough of his senses floated back he rolled onto his side and slowly pushed up to his knees. “We’ve done all this before, haven’t we? Some things never change.” He staggered back to his feet “Old methods; for an old woman.” He snarled out the last words.

“Pasha, I don’t want to hurt you but will indeed hurt you to get what I want. You know this.”

He felt a strangely familiar tremor return; he had an unsettling thought: “Shit the medications.” He pushed to keep going before his sanity slipped away. “Come on, let’s get started this is boring.” He turned sharply away from her to resume his pacing. “Where’s the chair? You got that hidden somewhere?” He mock-strained to look beyond the cage.

“There is no chair.” She shook her head and walked along beside him.

“No chair? Right. You have the prod who needs a bulky chair when it can be portable.”

“This tool is for corrections not wiping your memory.”

“You actually clarified that?” He mocked.

“Ok. No chair, that’s right torture, beatings, deprivation then the chair. Sorry, my brain is kinda fried after all these years so I get the sequence out of order.” He wagged his head making his hair shake side to side.

“NO. There is no chair. That was always a filthy tool.”

“Filthy? Really?” He turned to pace back the way he came. “You didn’t object at the time I seem to recall. Of course, my memory isn’t as great as you’d like.”

She kept walking alongside him, matching his steps.

He kept up his rant “I remember you watching and smiling. I remember how you talked me into submitting to it.” His tremor worsened.

He stopped suddenly and faced her again. She stopped as well. “I saw your face; your eyes.” The plates adjusted. “I remember how you enjoyed it; I remember how it got you excited to see my pain.” He stepped closer to the bars nearly touching them. “I remember you only smiled when you hurt me.” He snarled low as he slowly reached a metal finger to touch her face.

”Be careful, my Soldat, you overstep your boundaries.” She warned darkly.

“I’m not your soldier. Not anymore.” He growled as he dropped his hand.

”No? Who’s the one in the cage then? Not me.” She dismissed him.

“OK. Forget the chair.” He turned to pace away again; she didn’t follow him. “You always preferred that prod, up close and personal shocking, better that way for you. That’s right.” He gestured wildly at his own head “I nearly forgot, the prod is better; you get to feel the power of the shock as it tears through my body.” His voice was cracking. “It makes you feel powerful, doesn’t it? Such a pathetic little shriveled old woman.” He spit out the words as he crossed directly towards her again. “You get to bring the soldier to his knees with a flick of your wrist.” He hissed at her.

The sound of the stun prod powering up drove a wave of apprehension through him.

“Stop it, child. You have no idea what is going on here.” She whispered.

“I have no idea” he rasped out as he stood in front of her again “You’re joking I am locked in a cage with a chain on me. I’m nearly naked here and you're threatening me with a fucking stun prod just so you can get wet. I think I know exactly what..."

The fire of the stun cut off his words as Bucky couldn’t help but scream this time. The shock drove him to his knees writhing as the pain seared through him. When the brunt of the shock began to abate he screamed “Fuck you, just fuck you…” the second wave of pain took away his consciousness.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Sam, what are you seeing?”

“No activity here. No vehicles in the driveway and no heat signatures in the house or barn.”

Natasha added, “It could be shielded or they could be in the basement.”

Steve absently added, “Copy that.”

Fury came on the comm “This could be viable, folks. It took some deep digging but the woman who rented it has ties to the Ukraine group.”

Steve fought down his anger as he thought about Bucky being in Hydra’s hands for nearly two weeks now. Right next door.

“Ok, Natasha you take the barn; I’ve got the front; Sharon you’re on the back.”

Sam added “I’ll be watching over all of you” as he swooped in overhead.

Fury reminded them “I’m just down the driveway bonding with your medical man, we’ll get any stragglers.”

Fury nodded at Jonah. “You know how to use that thing?” He pointed at the Glock Jonah was carrying.

“Unfortunately, I do. Not that I will use it to kill anyone. But I can hit a kneecap at 30 feet if that counts.”

“Works for me.” Fury shrugged.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky pulled himself slowly onto his knees. His head was spinning so badly he could barely keep his eyes open and when he did he puked. He crawled to the corner of the cage to prop himself against the bars, curled in on himself; hugging his knees.

“You already know how this works, Pasha. What happens next is your choice.” She spoke softly near his ear.

He jumped at her voice.

“матушка needs your cooperation, child. It will be so much easier for both of us.” She put her hand on the bar near his head; her fingers slowly began to touch his hair. He didn’t move away.

“You don’t have to do this, матушка.” He whispered hoarsely.

She leaned her forehead against the bars; so close to his head they nearly touched. “I am a good soldier, my child. I have no choice in this.” Her fingers continued to stroke his hair.

Bucky closed his eyes and turned his head towards her. He felt her lips gently brush his temple. The tears that came couldn’t be stopped; he tried, but there were too many memories that pushed them out.

“I have only done what a good soldier would do. I have tried to help you, child. I have warned you time and again. All you need to do is answer my questions; be obedient; you don’t have to do this, child.”

Bucky sighed ‘Always the good soldier, be obedient, do what you’re told. No matter who gets hurt or betrayed.” He pushed himself away from her touch and leaned forward to put his head on his knees.

“Yes. That is a good soldier.” She sat back watching him. “Something you have never learned, except through pain.”

“Except through wiping my memory away. And even then it didn’t really work so well, did it?” He countered as he lifted his head and tried to stretch out his cramping body.

He adjusted his legs to sit cross-legged and let his head hang low again to control the nauseating spin it was in. He whispered “Tell me, woman, do you dream? Do the dead come to haunt you?” “Do you feel guilt or shame or are you dead inside?” He was actually curious. “Tell me. I won't tell anyone you answered a question. It’ll be our secret.” He half-heartedly mocked her. He wanted to tell her about his demons; the Voice; the nightmares. He wondered if he was the only one. But she already knew too much about what hurt him.

A pinging noise from a perimeter alarm disrupted their conversation. Bucky barely acknowledged it, but the woman heard it. She reached for a rag in her pocket with one hand and grabbed a fist full of his hair with the other. Her words floated down with him into unconsciousness “I sleep like a bear in winter, Soldat” as she yanked his head back and covered his face with the chloroform cloth.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Steve, I’m in the barn. First pass is clear. I’m going in deeper.” Natasha slowly moved through the barn, guns ready; carefully clearing each stall.

“Copy that. Front door is unlocked.” Steve stood to one side of the door, his back to the wall. He turned the knob and pushed the door open; nothing happened. The gun he reluctantly held was a last minute decision. Nat had convinced him “Anything to get Bucky back, right?” He quickly moved inside, holding his gun steady, sweeping left to right.

“No activity anywhere around the house.” Sam updated.

“Backdoor also unlocked. I’m on the back porch.” Sharon added as she carefully crossed into the kitchen. The air was filled with the smell of spoiled food.

Natasha’s voice came across the comm “I’m not finding anything in here. Steve. The floor appears to be dirt. The loft is empty. This barn is a dead end. I’m coming up to the house.”

“Ok, Nat. I’m in the living room. No signs of recent activity here.”

“I think we need to get to the basement, Steve,” Sharon added as she moved through the house.

“I agree with that. Nat, can you access the basement from the outside? Sharon and I are at the basement door inside.”

“Copy that. I’m at the bulkhead doors.”

Sam touched down near her and ran up beside her “I’m with Nat.”

Steve set his jaw and glanced at Sharon. She nodded her readiness.

“On three…1…2…3”

They tore open the doors to the basement and stormed in.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The woman climbed the basement stairs and entered the kitchen.

<You’re early.> She snapped.

<We want our property. You’re taking too long.> The man was tasting the pot of stew on the stove.

<You want his memory. His cooperation. This takes time. It isn’t the same as wiping his brain and shoving him out the door to fight. One must be gentle at times, balance the hurt with kindness to win him over.>

<You’re too soft. You’ve lost your touch old woman. Just use the words to trigger him and be done with it.>

<I may be an old woman but I know what I’m doing, I know him. I know how to manipulate him. You need to be patient. I have nearly three weeks; that was our contract.> She crossed to the door to show him out.

<You have 10 days. Then we come for him. Memories or not. We can always wipe him and start over. Or just kill him and be done with this dirty American.> He laughed. <Not before we get a few samples for future work of course.> He stood over her for a moment smirking before he disappeared out the door.

She grimaced as she crossed to the stove…checked the stew…then grabbed the heated pot with her bare hands and tossed it against the wall. “ дерьмо.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve slammed his fist through the basement door. He ripped down a wall of shelves in the basement convinced there would be a hidden door. He pounded on every wall and floor looking for secret tunnels, compartments, openings; anything that would lead him to find Bucky. In the end, he wasn’t there.

“Steve we’ve found some good leads….” Natasha tried to talk to him. But he walked out the front door, stalked past Fury and headed for the bike.

“Is he going to be ok?” Fury asked with some concern.

Natasha shook her head. “We need to find Barnes.” She headed to the pile of data and pushed it into a box.

 

Jonah stood by the bike as the team had instructed, he was technically a non-combatant even though he was there to offer back-up since Steve wouldn’t allow any of Fury’s hired help to be part of this.

“I’m sorry he wasn’t here.” Jonah offered.

Steve couldn’t speak. He just wanted to get on the bike and drive for the next thousand hours. His mind was screaming with anger; his face flushed hotly. He looked for the keys to the bike but they were missing.

“Have you seen the keys?” He tersely asked Jonah.

“Well, yeah I have. They’re here. He showed them to Steve.”

“Ok, I’ll take them thanks.”

“Ah, no. I think maybe we should talk first.” Jonah said softly.

“Talk? No talking. Give me the fucking keys.”

“You’re angry, rightly so. But it is ill-advised to drive while blindly angry.”

“With all due respect, Jonah. Go fuck yourself. Give me the keys.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Rogers. No. When we find James he’ll want you to be the first person he sees. He will be gravely disappointed if you’re dead.”

“I could take them from you.” Steve threatened. ”You most definitely could but I don’t think you will.”

Steve glared at him. “Give me the keys. I don’t want to hurt you but I will if I have to.”

Jonah looked at him sadly. “I don’t believe you would hurt me. That would make you just like the people that have your friend and that’s the last thing you want I’d guess.”

Steve stared hard at him for a long time. Then he turned away; not wanting Jonah to see him break down. He walked down the driveway towards the road heading home.

A few minutes later he heard the bike. ”How about a ride? How’s that for a compromise?” Jonah asked as he pulled alongside.

Steve nodded in agreement, too exhausted to argue; he climbed on behind him. He held onto his jacket as they headed down the road. Jonah took the bike towards the highway and opened it up enough to feel its strength and comfort.

Steve dropped his head onto the medic’s back and held on; Jonah pretended it was the bad road that shook Steve's shoulders. He let the whine of the tires drown out all of Steve's words.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

"Y _our plan is working well, Soldat."_

“I got her right where I want her” he stuttered out.

“Oh, and by the way, you piece of shit where have you been while I’ve been getting my ass kicked?”

_"Right here, pal, gathering intel of course."_

“Right. Please do share.”

_'You’ve missed quite a few doses of the medications. The ghosts are coming."_

“Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Bucky was shivering curled in the corner of the cell. “Getting old pal, used to be able to deal with being half naked on a cold night a lot better than this.”

_"You know the medications aren’t just for the voices, correct?"_

“When did you become the voice of reason here? I know what they’re for.”

His ghostly entourage finally showed up. “Not real, you’re not real, I don’t have to listen to you.” Bucky started his mantra as soon as the shadows wavered. As the night wore on he found himself sitting in the center of the cell, trembling and carrying on a vigorous conversation with Maria Stark. “I didn’t want to kill you, you know that. I’m sorry, really, really sorry.” Maria was unimpressed.

She moved closer and started pointing at him. “Shit, here it comes. Please don’t do that again. I can’t handle it, I know I deserve it but please, don’t hurt me.” He slowly crawled to the side of his prison knowing he would soon be lost to Tony’s mother’s vengeance.

He grabbed onto the bars with both hands, his head pressed against their cold surface; waiting. He heard the familiar sobbing.

Maria caressed his hair. “What the hell?” He stuttered out, surprised by this change in tactic as she spoke in Russian <Pasha, what’s wrong? I heard you talking.>

He didn’t answer; too terrified of a Russian speaking Mrs. Stark.

<Pasha? Are you ill? You had medications in the bag but I didn’t recognize the name.>

“Too many names. I barely know who I am anymore.” He answered her in his head.

The tremors intensified; he felt all of his muscles begin to tense; it took his last remnant of focused energy to stutter out “I…need…those…meds.” And the seizure was upon him.

 

He woke to find his head in the woman’s lap, she was stroking his hair. “Where the hell am I.” He thought. There was a blanket covering him. “What happened?” he choked out.

<I think you had a seizure, child.>

He was too weak and tired to try and overpower her. As his consciousness returned he could see he was still in the dirt-floored cage. The chain was still on his arm.

>Drink this. You haven’t eaten in days; barely any water.>

“Days?” He thought. “Time flies when you’re a prisoner.”

“I need the medications.” He whispered.

“Drink the water.” She held the bottle in front of him and cradled his head.

_"Don’t do it, Soldier. You know how this works; she beats you down, then she offers you comfort. Classic conditioning, worked like a charm on you, remember?"_

“I don’t care, I’m dying here. I need the water, I need the meds.” He argued with the Voice so the woman could hear him.

“Pasha? I gave you the medications.”

“What?” He could vaguely recall her pushing the pills into his mouth and pouring a few gulps of water in. “I thought you were trying to water-board me.”

“No, child. I was trying to help you.” She stroked his cheek and pushed the hair off his face.

She tried to help him drink the water but he shook his head. “I can do it.” He struggled to push himself up and away from her. He reminded himself “Can’t do this again. Can’t let her have this.”

She protested “I can help …” but he cut her off.

“No, I need to get up.” He rolled away from her and ended up on his hands and knees.

“So stubborn.” She chided.

“That’s me alright…” He put his hand out and pointed at the water bottle. “I’ll take that if you’re still offering.”

”Of course.”

She rose from the floor and backed out of the cell. He never looked up as she locked the door and walked away.

_"She’s getting soft in her old age. Time was, she’d have left you lying in your own puke and sh….."_

“Whoa there buddy, Language.”

_"It felt good to have her caress you, didn’t it? You’ve missed that kind of touch."_

“I ain’t discussing that kind of touch with you. Besides, that was then, this is now.”

_"She’s playing you, soldier. You know that’s how she works. You know where she came from."_

‘We’ll see who’s playing who, now won’t we.” Bucky smirked weakly. “You ain’t been paying attention. I got the pills and a blanket. Score two for me.” _  
_

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

<Soldat. It’s time for us to get to work.>

Bucky startled at the voice. His tongue was thick “Where am I?”

<You are with me, child. With your матушка.>

“What?” He opened his eyes and searched for the woman.

He sighed when he saw her “You, are not my mother.” He lay back down on the dirt floor. “Leave me alone.”

<I brought you food. You need to eat> She added in a whispered English “or you’ll be too weak to escape.”

“Yeah, yeah you need me strong the fist of Hydra has to be …. What did you say?”

“You heard me, Soldat. Eat the food, drink the water. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes; we have much work to get done before they come for you.” She turned and walked quickly away.

“Did you hear that? Voice? Hey buddy…come on…don’t abandon me now.”

_"You can’t trust her Soldier. She is playing you as she always does. She just said that to make you cooperate, to make her job easier."_

“Yeah but what if…..either way, if they come for me or she lets me go. I need to be ready.” He resolved to change his tactics.

He ate the food and drank the water as fast as he could and paid for it with intense cramps and an overwhelming urge to vomit.

“Do not vomit! I need those calories, damn it.” 

He stood to stare towards the door when he heard it open. She slowly approached, stun prod in hand.

“Well, that’s not a good sign. I thought we promised no violence.”

“We made no such promises.” She reminded.

She circled the cage, he watched her intently.

He opened “Ok so let’s recap: no chair to wipe my brain, yet; no beatings or drugs, well except for chloroform, oh and the stun prod which by the way does sh... nothing for my memory issues cuz now you want my memories and you gave me the medications so clearly you want me relatively sane. How’m doing so far?”

She nodded “Go on.”

“My memories, not of Brooklyn, the war or what you and Hydra did to me.”

“Continue.”

“What memories then?” But Bucky knew exactly what she was talking about. The wall at home. He was floridly psychotic when he wrote it all down; but that day when he tried to work on it and melted down even on the meds; he knew it was all very, very accurate.

“Contacts, locations, money….” She made a sweeping gesture of etcetera.

“Oh, those memories.” He nodded. Then raised his eyes slowly to confront her “No.”

“I can help you remember, Pasha, as you know.”

“I am well acquainted with your methods, матушка.” He paused then added, “The words are still rattling around in here.” He gestured flippantly at his head. He snarled at her in Russian <You’re the one who put them there. You’ll have to use them to force me to tell you everything.>

<I would rather you cooperate with me.> She answered quietly.

“Fat chance of that, woman.” He huffed.

He sighed as he stared at his filthy bare feet “Then…let the games begin.”

“Very well. This is your choice, Pasha. Not mine.”

She paced around the cage silently. Minutes passed.

He glanced up at her “Having second thoughts матушка?” He asked with an over-abundance of innocence laced in his voice.

She grimaced then spoke firmly:

<Longing> Bucky shuddered hard but held his standing position.

<Rusted> The ripping pain that seared his head, caused him to groan as he staggered forward.

 **<** Seventeen **> ** He fell to his knees; clutched his head as he choked out “Please, please, матушка don’t do this.”

 **<** Daybreak>  Bucky started screaming…”. Please. матушка, Stop. Please don’t make me do this.” He started to sob on his knees in the dirt.

 

He knelt there for what felt like forever. The agonizing pain in his head slowly dulled down to an ache. His thoughts were bouncing around like a pinball machine. He could barely lift his head but forced his gaze up to find her but she was gone.

“What the fuck…?”

Even the Voice abandoned him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

<Soldat it’s time to work again.>

Bucky was doing push-ups when she came in. His right arm was aching. He’d almost forgotten about the damaged tendon until the fifth pushup. He kept going.

<Soldat, it’s time to work.>

He stopped the push-ups, sat on his ankles and looked at her through his ragged hair. ”What the hell just happened here.”

She swung the prod hand to hand. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He jumped up from his knees and stalked towards her. “You said the words and stopped. You got halfway through and left. Ok, I get it, you like to torture me but what’s the point of that, even you have a point to all your damn torture.”

She fired up the stun prod.

Bucky protested as he pointed a metal finger at her “Wait! Damn is not a swear word!”

He thought she nearly smirked at that. At least it got her to drop the damn prod.

She came close to the bars and gestured him closer. He looked pointedly at the stun prod and shook his head no. She sighed and laid it down on the ground. He crossed to the bars and leaned against them, his head bent closer to her.

_"You’re an idiot, you know. To trust her like that."_

Bucky rolled his eyes and thought “No shit. That’s why I’ve got one hand ready to grab her, buddy.”

But he didn’t need to be afraid this time. Or grab her.

“I put the words in your head, didn’t’ I?” She whispered in his ear.

“You certainly did, woman.” He growled.

“I can take them out.”

Bucky closed his eyes and held his breath. He didn't dare believe what he heard.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. I'll Follow You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in Russian are enclosed in < > these brackets.

 

Steve stood in the middle of the woman’s living room; scrutinizing everything; overturned furniture; broken lamps; books strewn across the floor; he touched each one and cataloged the topics in his mind. Jonah had brought them back to the house during the night at Steve’s insistence.

“Were you even here, Buck?”

“Or did she take you somewhere else?”

He read each shred of paper; examined every picture on the walls. “I won’t stop searching for you; you know that, right?”

“Nat thinks that woman may be Red Room.” His voice caught on the last two words. “She didn’t leave a trail; she was cautious; then again she’d have to be a master to have caught you.”

He moved to the kitchen to open the cabinets, drawers, even the stove. Natasha and Fury had torn the place apart methodically the day before; after Steve had torn the place apart in his rage.

As he slowly walked the house his heart was aching; the tightness in his chest waxed and waned with each question he asked, each item he touched. Anger too; always present but flaring like a stubborn fire; as he thought about how she may have hurt Bucky; how she and others may be hurting him right now as he stood there helplessly wandering this old house.

“So, buddy” he murmured “Is she someone you knew?” He dreaded that answer.

Steve crossed to the bedroom. He pushed aside the bureau, examined each piece of clothing left on the floor; crouched to run his hands across every inch of the mattress.

“Was she there in the beginning Bucky?”

Were you scared when you saw her again?”

“Did she take away your memories of us?”

He paused to look out the window across the fields. “Did you see her that day you went running?”

“God, Buck, did you go back to her willingly?” Steve shook his head at that thought, trying to dislodge the idea that Bucky went willingly to Hydra.

Steve watched the sun break over the horizon.

He and Jonah had walked every inch of the house for hours before Jonah finally gave it up and fell asleep on the sofa. He had the radio playing softly. The lyrics of a song got stuck in Steve’s head:

_I'll follow you down through the eye of the storm_

_Don't worry I'll keep you warm._

_I'll follow you down while we're passing through space_

_I don't care if we fall from grace_

_I'll follow you down_

“Maybe she didn’t bring you here at all?” He went to the back porch. The grass was covered in the morning dew; the sunrise bathed everything in a translucent glow. “Are you in Hydra’s hands already?” He choked on that question.

The song’s words echoed in his head;

_I'll follow you down to where forever lies_

_Without a doubt, I'm on your side_

_There's nowhere else that I would rather be_

_I'm not about to compromise; give you up to say goodbye_

_I'll guide you through the deep I'll keep you close to me!_

 

“I won’t give up Buck. Not ever. I’m gonna follow you 'til the end of time.”

Steve headed towards the barn but the sound of heavy footfalls jerked him from his thoughts of Bucky. He pulled the gun from its holster as he slowed to take cautious steps forward. He quickly rounded the corner, gun up and ready, only to come face to face with the black horse.

He huffed out a laugh “I nearly shot you, horse.” She nickered quietly at first then more insistently as she pawed at the door. “What’s in there, girl?” She nudged him with her head and bumped him back a step. He was a bit surprised “You’re strong, girl.” He ran his hand down her neck and across her flank. “Hmm, you look pretty well fed for an abandoned horse. No offense.” He slid the door open; she pushed past him to rush to an open stall and nickered again expectantly.

As he leaned on the stall door and assessed this healthy looking animal; “Tell me something, horse….who’s feeding you?”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky grabbed each bar, next and next and next; he’d lost count of how many times he’d tried to dislodge them. It became another of his obsessive coping mechanisms. Touching and counting in various multiples of three or six; a byproduct of his all-consuming anxiety.

He paced the cage, back and forth, pulling the bars, digging in his feet to gain leverage. “I thought for sure she’d let me go I should’ve tried to get to her. What was I thinking? Steve, I’m sorry, I’ll never see you again." He dropped to his knees and tried to dig below the bars with his metal hand; concrete. Panic tightened his chest. He felt the always present tremor increase as he staggered up to haul on the chain.

“I fucking hate vibranium.” He strained against the chain trying to reach the door but the only thing that gave was his metal arm; he could feel the plates shift, dangerously overextended. He looked up and grabbed at the bars overhead to swing his feet up and towards the end of the cage. He slammed his bare feet into the bars over and over; putting all of his weight and energy into slamming into the bars, screaming from deep within his gut, desperate to escape. Ultimately he dropped to the floor in a frustrated heap; his feet bloody and bruised; he couldn’t move the cage.

_"You need to find your inner Winter Soldier."_

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to be the Soldier, that’s the whole point here.”

_"Idiot. You think you can walk away from 70 years of training? You are the Soldier, like it or not. Embrace it, use it, you plan on crying your way out of this Soldier? Use your training, think as the Soldier and use it."_

Bucky sat on the floor staring at his filthy body; fighting the desperation that was growing. “Steve. I just want to see Steve again. I miss him. I want to tell him something.”

_"You’re such a sap. Why would he want you? Look at you, filthy, crying all the time, you’re the Winter Soldier and all you do is whine and cry. Pathetic."_

“Thanks, and to think I almost liked you the other day.”

_"Do you want him? Do you want to see him again? Do you want to tell him some sappy think like you “love” him? Then get off your sorry ass and get out of here. Use the Winter Soldier to your advantage for once."_

“I hate to say this but I hadn’t thought of that.” He bit his lower lip and quieted his mind to focus on escape.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve texted Natasha and Sam as he kicked at the sofa to wake Jonah. “Let’s go sleeping beauty, I’ve got a lead.”

Jonah scrambled to his feet “Sorry, I fell asleep. I should’ve stayed up with you.”

“No worries, I don’t need much sleep anyway.” Steve was being polite as he told himself.

“The next time I sleep I’ll have my arms wrapped around Bucky.”

 

Natasha and Sam were in the tactical room when they got home.

“Ok, let’s recap.” Sam opened as pictures of an older woman flashed on the screen. “Her current name is Gieta Sokolov she’s a Russian national.”

Steve stood with his arms crossed staring at her face. She looked younger than her stated 80 years; her grey hair pulled up in a knot; she was small and wiry “Bucky would crush her if he tripped over her” Steve thought at first then wondered “She controlled him?” His blood ran cold at the realization of what she did to him to gain that control.

Steve’s building rage was interrupted by Jonah. “Look at her eyes, you can see her darkness.”

Everyone turned to stare at him; Steve glared. Natasha made the slash across the neck sign behind Steve’s back.

“Oh, sorry, you know…sometimes darkness can show you the light.” His voice trailed away as he sunk into a chair far away from Steve.

Sam carried on “She has contract ties to the Ukrainian Hydra cell; with a long history of being a behavioral modification specialist.”

No one had to ask what it meant.

“Probably Red Room years ago. I don’t remember her from my time there but she fits the profile." Natasha hesitated.

“I know it’s hard to talk about, Nat, but anything you can add to help Bucky.” Steve pleaded.

She kept her voice low. “The Winter Soldier was at the Red Room years ago, he helped train the girls long before my time there, things happened…”

Steve sat next to her “Please, Nat, anything….”

”Steve, all I know about are the stories, if she was there when he was at the Red Room, she had a...close relationship with him, she would likely be a strong influence today.”

Steve searched her eyes, he could see the pain as she dredged up her own horrifying story. He squeezed her arm in thanks.

 

“We met a girl.” Steve shifted gears. ”Holding out on us?” Sam looked confused.

“It seems this Russian agent has a soft spot. Every picture in the house, every book was about one topic. Horses. She arranged for someone to feed that horse.” Jonah perked up, he was waiting for Steve to get to the good parts of their reconnaissance.

“The girl got a call from her two days ago.” He laid the girl’s phone on the table and pushed it towards Sam. “It came from Bucky’s burner phone.”

“I am all over it.” Sam grabbed the phone.

“I’ll call Fury.” Natasha jumped up.

Jonah smiled as he crossed to the door “I’ll call Cassie and Alex.”

Within seconds Steve was alone in the tactical room. He turned to the storage cabinet labeled **_Nomad_**. He opened it slowly and removed the new uniform. He ran his hand across the surface of his new weapon. It had just arrived the day before from Wakanda while they were searching for Bucky.

“Turning a page now, Buck. New outfit, new shield; soon a new life with you. Hold on.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky hung from the top of the cage; his legs were jammed between the bars enough to do crunches; hundreds of them. He’d lost count…again…when the woman interrupted “Child, you look ridiculous.” She chided as she came in with a plate of food and the pill bottles. He stopped crunching and hung there upside down, watching her. His T-shirt was hanging nearly over his head, baring his very firm and contoured abs and chest.

“Fuck you woman” he snarled to himself.

_"She always stared at you. She watched you on the cameras back then too."_

“Enough. I know, ok. That’s a memory I don’t want. I don’t need your help.”

_"She won’t dare touch you now. She knows you could crush her, no one to help her take you down."_

“I don’t know pal that prod sure does the trick nicely when applied to the chain attached to my fucking arm.”

_"Take a lesson from her playbook; she wants you even now. Make her think you like her; that you have feelings for her."_

“I am really going to throw up now.”

“Get down from there and eat something. And stop talking to yourself, you sound ridiculous.” She put the tray down and opened the cage door to push it inside.

He dropped to the ground and crouched in front of the tray. He grabbed the pills first and gulped down some water.

“Are you getting what you want from me?” He kept the disdain from his voice.

She frowned slightly as she settled on a stool near the door “If you mean your memories. I have not asked for any. Yet.”

“Why not? You’re controlling me with the words, aren’t you? You could ask anything. I’d have to comply.”

“I am using the words to help you. Repeat the trigger in a controlled manner to desensitize you. I have always had your best interest at heart, child.”

He suppressed several scathing responses and opted for <I know Mother.>

The sessions to rid him of the words had been brutal; he couldn’t remember anything but the pain; not his answers, not what she did when he was under her influence.

_"She asked no question, Soldat. It was easier the last time. It may be worth the pain."_

“We both must face the truth: Hydra will likely kill us. We are obsolete. They will get what they deem prudent and cut their losses.” She got up and signaled him to push the tray towards her. He grabbed the food and did as she requested.

She turned to leave.

“Wait.” He barked as he moved quickly to the bars facing her. “My things, you took them...I want…can I have them back?”

He wasn’t sure why he asked. Maybe 70 years of having nothing of his own made the simple items more important. He hadn’t forgotten about the gold-colored cord or the girl who showed kindness. He thought about the baseball cap; and Steve; Bucky had kept him hidden away deep in his mind this whole time, only unlocking those places late at night when the woman was asleep. He didn’t want her to ever touch Steve; didn’t want her to even speak his name. He knew she had control of his mind in ways he didn’t understand so he dug a hole in there deep and safe and buried his feelings for Steve to keep her away.

“Things? Belongings?” She let out a sarcastic laugh. “The Soldier owns nothing, has nothing, has no feelings; ownership is a burden, child, you know this.” She dismissed him as she left the room.

His metal fist slammed into the bar so the clanking sound reverberated in his head. “I will make an exception to my ‘no killing’ rule when your time comes, woman.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<

Steve stepped onto the tarmac and strode with determination to the chopper. He was dressed in his new uniform much like his Captain America one, same contoured fit, same utility belt; but no star and so dark blue it was nearly black. “Bucky will love this one.” He thought when he first saw it. He picked up the shield. It felt good to hold it again. He dragged his hand along the edge, tested the weight and balance. It wasn’t the old shield, of course, Stark had that one. King T’Challa had commissioned this one. Silver with a red star in the center. He smiled thinking about what Bucky was going to have to say about it. He could hear him moaning about how “That’s my star.” Steve knew that someday he would give that shield to Bucky.

“What are you smiling about?” Sam interrupted his thoughts.

“Bucky…thinking about Bucky.”

“We’ll have him back in no time, Steve.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

Natasha joined them. “You know, Steve, this could be a trap.” She had grown skeptical of the intel when she heard the woman had used Bucky’s burner phone to call the girl feeding the horse. “A widow would never do that.” The credit card had been traced to an ATM in Brooklyn, a woman with grey hair had tried to use it. “She’s leaving bread crumbs, Steve, drawing you in. She wants you to come after him.”

“Well, she’s going to get what she wants I’m coming after him. I have no other choice.”

“She knows you’ll do anything to get him back. There’s no telling what we’ll find, he could be the Soldier, he could try to kill you again.”

“I’m willing to take that chance Nat, I can’t leave him. I have to hold onto the belief that he’ll remember me.”

 

“Ok folks, let’s get this show on the road we’ve got a rescue mission to accomplish.” Fury called them all to work.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Get dressed, Soldat.” The woman threw his jeans and sneakers on the dirt floor next to the cage.

Bucky’s stomach did a flip or two. “This is it.” He told the Voice who conveniently disappeared. “You always disappear when shit starts flying…” he growled but turned his attention to the woman.

“Let me go, woman.” He demanded.

“Don’t be ridiculous Soldat. You belong to Hydra, I work for Hydra, I am not about to let you go and seal my own fate.”

“I am not a thing to be owned.” He growled.

“No, you are a weapon. A highly trained and valuable weapon that they have invested in for over 70 years. They want you back.”

“I am not a weapon. I’m ….a ….person.” His voice trailed away; he wasn’t convincing even himself.

The woman sighed “I am getting too old for these games. Get dressed; you don’t want them dragging you out of here in your undergarments.”

Bucky swallowed hard as she walked away. “Fuck.”

His hands shook as he pulled on the jeans and sneakers. He checked the pocket for the card that the medical girl had given him. It was gone. “I really, really will break my ‘no kill’ rule for you woman.” He growled as he turned to the single cage bar that had given way during his battle to be free.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

<Where is the asset, woman. It’s time to end this charade of yours.> The Hydra captain was standing over her as she remained defiant despite how he dwarfed her. <He is in the basement, caged and chained. He will be easily controlled thanks to my work.> She added proudly.

<We have our own methods of controlling him.> He signaled four of his soldiers to head for the basement. They were armed with guns of course but two of them had tranquilizer guns as well as long poles with loops at the end.

<He’s not a feral dog.> She spit out in disgust <He is a ...soldier. He will obey my commands. You need to let me control him.> She had nearly called him a human being. What she was hiding deep in her mind and heart was her feelings for the Soldier. Foreign emotions crept into her heart; she struggled to dismiss them as quickly as they came.

She turned to follow the Hydra soldiers into the basement but the captain grabbed her arm and jerked her back in place.

<Not you, woman. You stay here with me. We know you have a long history with him. No sense testing your loyalties.> He smirked.

<I am a loyal soldier. You have no reason to doubt my long life of service.> She tugged her arm away from him but made no other moves except to watch anxiously as the four men went down the basement stairs.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky climbed up the chain and used all of his weight and strength to haul down trying to loosen the bolts that held it to the crossbeam.

_"Can you hear them, Soldat? They are right above you. Pull harder. They’ll be here any second now."_

“Yup…got it…I hear them…all over it.” He huffed out as he strained to break free.

He heard them descend the stairs as he climbed hand over hand up the chain again and swung up onto the crossbeam. He crouched as he gathered the chain in his hand.

“This is really gonna hurt.” He groaned.

The first two soldiers entered the room and as he expected; failed to look up. He launched himself through the air before the two backup soldiers made it to the bottom of the stairs.

He caught them off guard as his thighs wrapped around the neck of the first soldier while his fist slammed into the skull of the second one. He reached the end of the chain mid-air; the torque on his arm sent screaming pain through his shoulder and yanked backward.

He twisted hard to toss the soldier caught by his legs, grabbing for his gun as they tumbled to the floor. He spun around; stumbled backward, and trained the gun on the remaining two soldiers in the doorway. A tranquilizer dart hit him in the chest; as his finger pulled the trigger with alarmingly cold ease. ”Four down.” He whispered as he sat on the floor waiting for the next wave.

_"Get your ass moving and it’s a good thing it takes more than one dart to take you down."_

He did a quick assessment of his arm as he pulled the dart out.

“Well, that noise is not reassuring.” He mumbled as he tried to flex his shoulder.

The pain seared through his back.

_"Get rid of the chain for fuck’s sake."_

“Right.” He aimed the gun at the crossbeam and opened fire.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bullets broke through the floorboards as the Hydra captain and the woman jumped away to avoid being hit.

<I thought your methods would control him?> She asked sarcastically.

< Be quiet.> He shoved her into the corner as he called for backup and turned to face the basement doorway; gun pointed at the opening.

Bucky had wrapped the chain around his shoulder and across his chest.

He crept up the stairs without making a sound. He quieted his mind and followed the Voice’s advice. He channeled the Winter Soldier.

He could hear breathing, quick and nervous. He knew that wouldn’t be the woman.

“One man; more outside.” He told himself, as he drove down his focus to the tight breathing and background noise of soldiers making ready outside.

He paused on a step that afforded his first view of the room.

He could see a stove with a large pot.

The nervous man was across the room.

Bucky fired one shot at the pot; it flew in the air with a loud clank, the man opened fire reflexively towards the pot.

The Winter Soldier stepped across the threshold and strode straight at him, gun raised. He could see the terrified look in the man’s eyes; so terrified he never even trained his weapon on him.

He held the barrel of his gun to the man’s head for a heartbeat before his left hand formed a fist and connected with his jaw; the Hydra captain hit the floor with a reassuring thud.

The woman rushed towards him <Soldier, more are coming; we only have a few seconds.>

He pointed the gun at her head to stop her.

<There is no ‘we’.> He snarled at her.

<I can still help you, child….> 

He cut her off <I am not your child.>

<They are coming…there is not time for this; we need to get out of here.>

_"She might be right Soldat, kill her later, get the chain off first."_

“Where’s the key. Get this fucking thing off my arm.” He growled at her.

She quickly dug a key out of her pocket and held it up with a questioning look.

He continued to train the gun towards her head but held out his left arm for her to set him free.

“We can get out this way.” She pointed to a corridor beyond the kitchen.

_"Well, that seems like a bad idea, follow her?"_

He made a quick assessment of the room. Barred windows, he could see well enough through the filthy glass that a chopper was in the distance; two vans closer and at least a dozen armed soldiers heading for the only way out beside the corridor.

“Pasha, please, we have to go.” He hated to trust her but….

The Winter Soldier efficiently viewed the corridor; it was clearly an abandoned building; rooms on either side of a long hallway; the only way outside at the far end; there was a staircase leading up, at least 3 flights.

“Shit.” It would take precious time to carefully clear each room as he ran the gauntlet or he could run it and hope for the best.

“No one else is here, Soldier. We can make it to the door.” The woman whispered.

He took a step to follow her, then another.

_"Don’t trust her. The chopper’s out there right by that door."_

“I can fly that fucking chopper. I can overpower them.” He argued as he quickened his steps.

An explosion rocked the kitchen behind them. He barely glanced back.

“ _No time left for indecision, pal_.” Bucky shook his head, "Wait, was that Steve’s voice?”

He ran down the corridor for the doors.

And diverted straight up the stairs, three at a time. Leaving the woman screaming “Soldat, stop.”

_"You know damn well the roof is always a bad option to retreat to. You can’t fly, you’re not the damn Birdman."_

“Yup. Nope. Makin it up as I go, pal. But…let me remind you…70 years experience here. Might know what I’m doin’.”

He hit the top floor as he heard the woman screaming <Up there..he went upstairs.>

He smirked as her words confirmed his mistrust of her. “Definitely going to make her pay at some point.”

He ran the corridor and searched for a way onto the roof. All the windows had thick metal bars; no planned roof access.

The soldiers were slowed briefly by their need to use caution at each floor.

Bucky ran into the one room that had furniture in it; he closed the door, jammed the bed frame against it and turned to the window.

“Ok, let’s see how bad I’ve fucked up my arm.” He grabbed the bars on the window and pushed. The plates clanked “Oh. Not a good sound.” He pushed again harder. The muscles across his back twitched and cramped. He groaned as quietly as he could as he pushed again.

The bars broke free of the brick frame.

He could hear the soldier’s boots hitting the floor he was on as he climbed out the window and grabbed for the roof’s edge.

_"Well, this is certainly a dramatic last stand. "  
_

“Hey pal, this is no last stand hopefully.”

Bucky anxiously stood at the end of the roof the furthest from the chopper on the ground; he could hear the blades powering up. If, when they got it in the air he was dead. He at least wanted to see it coming. He stood ready for the fight whichever way it came.

“Two guns, one nearly out of ammo; and a damaged metal arm.” He took inventory and let out a soft sigh.

“Wish I would have kissed you, Steve. Here I am again, regretting that.”

An explosion and breaking glass jolted him from his regrets. Then another and another.

Followed by grappling hooks connecting with the edge of the roof. “One, two, three, four; one, two, three…quit…no counting now.” He shook his head to bring back the Winter Soldier’s coldness.

He took a deep breath; widened his stance; braced for whatever would hit him as he made this last stand, he hated to admit it to the Voice "Let's face it, the roof was a bad idea.”

He opened fire as the first four soldiers climbed over. He could hear the chopper begin its rise from the ground.

More soldiers over the edge; he fired again. Some fell.

Bullets zipped past him.

There was a loud whirring noise behind him; he could feel the over-powering downdraft of a chopper right at his back.

“Shit, shit, shit, two of ‘em.” He groaned as he swung around to train the last of his bullets on the pilot. “I can at least cost them a fucking chopper.”

 

“Ah, Cap, your man over there is about to shoot me!” Fury yelled over the din of the fight and the blades.

“I got him!” Steve yelled as he flung open the door and whipped the shield towards the closest soldiers so it flew right past Bucky’s head, close enough to make him flinch.

“What the fuck?” Bucky ducked enough to avoid the shield and hesitated to take the shot.

Someone in a dark blue uniform somersaulted off the chopper, landed on his feet and ran towards the growing horde of soldiers as he caught the rebounding shield.

“Steve?”

“Yes! Steve!” He heard the Red Head yell as she landed next to him and ran to join the fight. Then that damn Birdman swooped over his head to take on the Hydra chopper that had just trained its guns on all of them.

For a moment everything went into slow motion. The sounds of the chopper blades, the shouts of men falling; gunfire; the downdraft pushed at his back, threw his hair across his face, blurring his vision. He tried to focus on the fight, but his eyes were drawn to Steve; how his body moved; graceful, strong, lethal.

“I just might get to kiss him.” He sighed as a tranquilizer dart slammed into his thigh.

“I’m getting really tired of this.” He growled as he pulled it free and searched for his assailant. No one on the roof had a tranquilizer gun. He looked over the roof's edge to see the old woman on the ground below him; a van close by, engine running; the door open.

He staggered forward. ”What the hell was in that one.” His mind slurred his words as he dropped to his knees and threw his hands out to keep from falling off the roof and into her waiting hands.

He vaguely felt the good guy's chopper drop away from the roof’s edge as he struggled to fight the effects of the drugs. “Hold on, it’ll pass, Steve’s here…I think.” He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts and vision. He fought the effects of the drugs and hoped it really was Steve.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Someone gently touched his right shoulder. He tried to look up, his head felt too heavy to move. Someone was kneeling in front of him. A hand slipped under his chin and slowly raised his face. He blinked the person into focus.

“Steve?” He whispered so quietly the face looked confused.

“It’s you, right Steve? Please don’t be a hallucination, please don’t be her?” He choked.

“It’s me, really me. I swear to you I’m right here.” Steve whispered in his ear as he pulled closer and rubbed their foreheads together.

Steve sat back enough to look into Bucky’s eyes. He cradled his face and slowly pulled him forward to place a kiss on his forehead but Bucky resisted and pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I just…” Steve stammered out. He started to pull away but something at his belt stopped him. He looked down to find two metal fingers tucked tightly through his belt; holding him there. He felt a slight tug that pulled him closer. 

Bucky cautiously leaned closer to place a chaste, gentle kiss on Steve’s mouth.

Steve’s hands slipped through Bucky’s hair as he kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song rattling around in Steve's head is  
> I'll Follow You  
> Amaryllis CD  
> from a band called Shinedown  
> great song


	14. Never a Dull Moment When You're Hanging With Barnes

“Is Dodger secure?” Fury’s voice intruded on Steve's reunion with Bucky.

“Affirmative. Nomad has hands on - literally.” Sam's smirk came across the comm despite trying to stifle it.

The conversation in his ear broke the moment as Steve released his hold. The last thing he wanted was anyone seeing him being intimate with Bucky. “No sense starting rumors." He justified, pulling away. But in reality, he wasn’t expecting Bucky to kiss him, especially in the middle of a firefight on a roof with everyone watching. Besides, ”Bucky loves women.” He told himself, “He’s so very heterosexual. He’s just confused.”

Steve’s thoughts were wandering aimlessly through hope, lust, shame, lust again, embarrassment, warmth when Bucky’s slurred voice cleared the fog.

“Steve? Can we get out of here?”

Steve abandoned his musing to examine him, head to toe, from his half-mast eyelids to the way he wobbled even as he knelt in front of him. He pushed the hair from his face and patted his cheek,  “You’re looking kinda drugged, pal.” The pull of Bucky's metal fingers in his belt was still there, compelling him to stay close. He struggled with the feelings triggered by the insistent tug. They began to kick open that door he believed was tightly shut, locked and forgotten. There was an undeniable heat that started in his gut the longer those fingers stayed connected to him even if they were only latched over his belt. It was a connection he hoped for but didn't dare believe in, until this moment in the middle of a fight. "Hope I'm not imagining this," he whispered before switching on his comm mic and calling, “Chopper, let’s get out of here.”

He slipped his arm around Bucky’s waist and pulled him to his feet, steadying him as the first shaky step led to a stumble. The awkward embrace ended with Bucky's head tucked against his neck. Steve laughed, "Let’s not end this rescue with you falling off the roof.”

Bucky's mumbled, “Not a rescue. I escaped," vibrated against his skin. The finger he poked into Steve’s chest to emphasize his point served to kick open that locked door another inch. The offered touch sent an electric sensation through his heart. He wondered how something so simple could jolt him like that. He pulled him closer, and lectured himself, “Just holding him up. Not sexual, not enjoying this, nope but hope it's real, hope he remembers this.”

Steve slipped his hand to the back of Bucky's head, pulling his breath closer to his skin. He wanted to feel the warmth on his neck, hear his breathing as it settled down into a normal rhythm with Steve's grounding hold.  Sam, the aftermath of the fight, the chopper noise all faded into the background, drowned out by the feelings that stepped forward as he focused on Bucky. The dirty hair didn’t matter, the lack of hygiene was irrelevant, what that woman did to him didn't matter for the moment.  Bucky let this happen, the embrace, the kiss, this closeness. Steve wasn't going to miss the moment, "Never gonna let you go again." 

Sam touched down nearby, “We rented out your room, Barnes. You'll have to sleep in the barn." His light-hearted joke was drowned out by the approaching chopper and missed by his intended recipients as they held one another. Sam found a fascinating patch of tarpaper roofing to kick at to give them a few seconds of privacy before the moment was overwhelmed by Fury and company.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Natasha followed Fury’s crew down the basement stairs. “They’re all alive.” One of them remarked. “I thought he was this hotshot assassin?” Another one huffed.

“Get them out of here,” Natasha ordered but she had made the same observation. “You didn’t kill anyone, Barnes.” She walked the perimeter of the room. “It’s been awhile, do I need to take you to the shooting range?” She reviewed the pictures she had taken upstairs, the vibranium chain, the bullet holes in the floor.

She took a picture of the fractured crossbeam and the filthy blanket on the dirt floor.

“Were you drugged? Confused?” She reluctantly took pictures of the cage, the broken bar, the surveillance cameras.

“Of course not, Barnes. You didn’t kill them on purpose. You’re done with all that aren’t you?”

Her final pictures were of the discarded stun prod and the bucket of human waste. “Maybe you should make a few exceptions to that new rule.” She resolved to advise him as soon as he would stay in the same room long enough to hear her out.

She wrapped up her assessment and turned to go but an image flashed through her mind. The Winter Soldier dressed in the black leather vest, emptiness in his eyes sitting impassively on a cot in a cell similar to the one in front of her now. Her mind's eye saw the young red-headed girl approach him with caution. She could almost hear her words asking about the past, probing him about the stories she'd heard in the Red Room. The Soldier never looked at the girl, never spoke, he kept his eyes focused into the distance. She could still hear the echoes of men laughing nearby. Natasha remembered him even if he didn't seem to recall the young red-headed girl and her foolish questions.

Steve’s call for the chopper shook her from the memory. She ran to get back to the roof, smiling as she snagged the backpack she found in the kitchen.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Up you go.” Steve hoisted Bucky into the hovering chopper as Sam and Natasha each grabbed an arm and yanked him inside. Bucky landed on his hands and knees, he stayed crouched and swaying on the floor never reaching to pull himself up.

Steve jumped in and slammed the door shut, “Good to go," he called to Fury and Sharon before turning to the scene in the chopper bay. It took a few heartbeats to register that Bucky was on his hands and knees inches from his tormentor, his shoulder nearly brushed against her knees, dangling feet swung near him with the chopper rocking. She took advantage of the copter's motion to tap her toes against his thigh rhythmically the way children play a teasing game. He didn't pull away. 

“Who the hell thought this was a good idea, what is she doing in here, with him." Steve's tirade was sidelined by the woman’s voice, “Poor child, you know how I hate to use drugs on you. So stubborn though." She reached to caress Bucky's hair. 

Steve lunged between them, he threw a leg over Bucky and dropped the shield to block her hand and her view. “Get your hands off of him." He could feel Bucky slump against his leg, he tucked his foot tighter, locking him between his legs behind the shield.

The old woman offered a distinct grandmother-like smile and demurely pulled her hand back. She pointedly faced Natasha's pistol that was suddenly pressed against her left temple. Her smile widened as her eyes followed the barrel, up her arm and connected with her gaze. Natasha offered her a raised eyebrow in return. 

Sam tapped his Baretta on her shoulder, "Got one over here too."

She let him wait a moment before turning her smile towards him. “It’s very nice to meet all of you. You must be the Avengers. I've waited such a long time to meet you." Her eyes had a deceptive sparkle as she spoke, giving Sam a chill down his back and prompting Natasha's arm hair to prickle more than she cared to acknowledge.

Steve took the opportunity to grab Bucky by the back of his jeans and drag him towards the bench seat. Natasha reached to help but Bucky pulled away, then shoved her back at her next attempt to put hands on him.

The old woman mock whispered, “He doesn’t like Widows anymore. He used to like us, he knew us intimately once but now, sadly, he wants nothing to do with us." 

Sam muttered, "I can't imagine why. No offense, Nat." Then demanded, "That is enough talking.” He kept his weapon pointed at her as Steve got Bucky settled onto the seat with the greatest distance from the woman. He holstered his gun, double checked the zip-tie cuffs and took a seat across from Steve. 

Natasha braced against the far side of the compartment and focused on the old Widow commanding everyone’s attention.

Gieta Sokolov sat straight-backed, hands neatly folded in her lap, her hair fell in a messy cascade from the once pristine bun. She brushed her hands over her jacket and pants, her efficient clothing rumpled. Her frame was thin-boned, without appearing weak, her feet wouldn't reach the floor. They knew from the intel she was at least eighty but the woman sitting in their midst didn't appear frail. She appeared powerful. 

Sokolov turned her attention directly to Steve. He glared right back. “How the hell could she control him?” His mind was running with questions that had no decent answers.

“You must be Captain America.” Her stare was direct and challenging.

Steve didn’t answer but he could feel Bucky's thigh brush against his when she spoke. His peripheral vision caught his move to curl in on himself, hands tucked between his knees. He dropped his head down so his hair covered his face. Steve wondered briefly if he was oblivious to her presence or was this something else.

The Widow went on, “Pasha told me about you.”

“Who the hell is Pasha?” Sam muttered and glanced at Natasha. She shook her head to discourage him.

Bucky's thigh bumped Steve's again, it registered this time, "Purposeful. He's listening."

She whispered as she leaned slightly towards him, “He told me how he feels about you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and put as much nonchalance as he could find into his answer, “I doubt that.” Truth was, he had no idea.

Natasha continued her assessment with a growing concern for where it all was going. She could see the tremor in Bucky's head even from her vantage point from the opposite side of the bay. 

“Your name is Steve. Steven Grant Rogers.” Sokolov purred. “We know all about you.”

Bucky shuddered visibly again and began to uncurl. He raised his head, his attention shifted up from the floor to slowly settle on the old Widow's face. 

“Ok. No more talking.” Bucky's re-engagement wasn't lost on Sam.

Sokolov went on, “Pasha said he’s known you his whole life. Well, not his whole life. Not during his life with me or with Hydra. That was seventy years with us. Not with you.” She never stopped smiling. 

“I think you're done talking now," Steve growled. He leaned towards her nearly closing the gap between them, matching her lean inward.  Bucky’s leg pressed firmly against his, a tremor flowed into his thigh. He could sense if not see Bucky sitting more upright, his eyes locked on her, the tension in his body radiated against Steve's side. 

The Widow kept taunting, “Now that I see you in the flesh the pictures don’t do you justice, Captain. No wonder he wants you.” She lowered her voice, forcing him to lean closer if he wanted to hear what she was saying.

Steve couldn't help himself, he bent closer, “You don’t know anything about us.”

She laughed and tilted her head towards Bucky, “Oh, this child has told me all your deepest secrets. He had to tell me. He belongs to me. He will always belong to me.” She dragged out her words and locked cold hard eyes with Steve.

“Enough. We need to gag her.” Sam blurted.

Steve was close enough now that she could reach him easily. Her fingers uncurled as her hand went to stroke his face. He didn't notice that his thigh wasn't touching Bucky's any longer, he'd slid forward on the seat to hear her words, engage with her so closely that he'd lost contact with his body. He missed the subtle cues of muscles coiling, the heat of Bucky's anger building as he let himself be drawn in by her words. He was startled by the force of Bucky’s arm around his neck to throw him back away from the old Widow’s reaching hands. 

<Pasha, no wonder you love him, he’s very pretty. Did you fuck him?>

“Steve! She’s triggering him!” Natasha yelled as Bucky exploded across the small space driving his fist into the back of the bench inches from the woman’s head.  The force of his blow knocked Fury forward and out of his seat to sprawl across the controls sending the chopper into a swooping spin to the right then left until it began its ever-increasing spiral free-fall.

“Bucky! No!” Steve grabbed him by the waist and threw his shoulder into him but the fist was lodged in the back of the bench.

<Yes! Defend him, Soldat. Protect him at all costs.> She goaded, never losing that smile.

“Sam! Shut her up. Stop her!” Natasha barked as she scrambled to regain her feet. Sam was in the middle of his own scramble underneath Bucky's feet. 

<You haven’t fucked him yet, Soldat? What a shame, I'm sure you could have made him squeal.>

Bucky dragged his fist from the bench back and cut off her words with his fingers around her throat. He slammed his foot into the seat to brace against the wildly spinning chopper. He yanked her up and jammed her against the ceiling, her feet dangling and kicking. He grabbed hold of an overhead strap with his flesh hand, fighting the wild descent.

“No! Bucky let her go!” Steve dove to crash into his back, he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s metal arm and tried to shake loose his hold on the woman.

The chopper spun and dropped with jerks to toss them back down with every attempt to right themselves, except for Bucky. He had jammed himself and his tormentor into a macabre pose in the middle of the passenger bay, while everyone around them fell to the chopper's wild moves.

“Stand down Barnes!” Sharon screamed from her strapped in position in the co-pilot's seat. Her gun was loosely trained on him.

“Stop it, Buck! Let her go.” Steve held tight to his arm.

Sam's muffled voice wafted up from the floor, “We get it, Barnes but not this way!”

Sharon persisted, “Stand down! Soldier! Stand down now!”

Fury commanded, “What the hell! Get a handle on things back there! You’re gonna knock us out of the sky," as he fought to regain control of the chopper.

Natasha found her footing, “Drop the gun, Sharon I will stun you if you do not drop that fucking gun!”

“Bucky, let her go!” Steve whispered. He managed to wrap his fingers around Bucky’s fist trying to loosen his grip.

“Let her go Barnes or I will shoot you!” Sharon again kept up with her threats.

“Drop the gun, Sharon! I will stun you, no more warnings!”

Sam dragged himself out from under Steve and Bucky’s feet. He grabbed the woman’s limp body countering the grip of Barnes’s metal fist, he somehow lifted her despite the spinning. 

“She’s not worth it,” Steve whispered again. “This is what she wants you to do. Kill her. Kill us all." He wrapped a hand around the back of Bucky's neck. "Let it go. It’s over. Let go.”

 "Steve?" His voice was raw as his fingers loosened. He blinked his eyes back into focus and twisted towards Steve. "She was going to hurt you." Sam caught her limp body when Bucky released his grip.

Steve threw his arms around him from behind as the rocking spin threw them back against the door. He wrapped himself tightly around him, throwing his legs over Bucky's he pulled him close as the chopper fell from the sky.

Bucky squirmed to make their eyes meet. “I’m sorry, Steve.” He pulled in a ragged breath, “I killed us.”

Steve shook his head. “No, not you. Not your fault. If we’re gonna die --- I want to die with you,” Steve whispered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“No dying here today people!” Fury announced as he jolted the chopper controls once, twice, three times to rattle it out of the spiraling dive. The high-pitched whine of the fall rolled into a disturbing shimmy that settled into a reassuring hum. 

 

Sam laid Sokolov's body on the bench seat. “Unconscious, still breathing.” He announced.

Natasha groaned as she dragged herself off the floor to flop onto the bench seat. She dabbed at the blood on her head but smiled at the scene in the cockpit. Another unconscious body. Sharon lay slumped in her seat, stunned into submission.

Sam started laughing as he dropped into the seat across from where Steve was wrapped tightly around Bucky on the floor. “Damn Barnes! There is nothing dull about hanging with you."

 

<<<<<<<<

Bucky jumped out of the chopper nearly before it touched down. Steve was right on his tail. “Buck, wait don’t leave.” Steve caught up with him.

“I’m not. I'm not leaving. I just can’t be around them.” The shivering was making his teeth chatter. The drugs were wearing off and puking was the likely next step, the last thing he wanted was losing his stomach contents in front so many strangers. ”Hey man, you look like you need this.” Sam ran by them and tossed Bucky his lost jacket.

He caught it awkwardly and wondered how the hell they found it.

“Steve, please don’t go near her again.” He whispered.

”You mean Sharon?”

Bucky furrowed his brows. “Who? No, Steve. The other awful woman. The one that held me captive for the past month.”

“Right I won’t, I promise.” Steve touched his arm briefly. “Why don’t you wait by the bike. I’m going to deal with something before we leave.”

 

Bucky's trip to the bike was interrupted by Fury. 

“Barnes, you remember me?”

He stopped short but didn't glance up towards the voice's owner.

“You remember me?” Fury asked again as he moved in front of him.

“Yeah, yes. Ah, you're dead.” Bucky stammered and stole a look at his face.

“Hardly I just flew that copter that you tried to knock out of the sky.” Fury stepped closer again.

“You’re dead. I killed you.” He shook his head and backed away.

Fury laughed, “I can’t be dead. I just flew that chopper.”

Bucky kept backing away from him, “No, you can be dead. I see dead people all the time doing stuff.”

“You see dead people?” He stopped his advance.

“Yes." He glanced up again then back to the ground, "They don’t usually talk to me, just stare. Not like this, not talking.” His head twitched faintly. “I don’t get it I’ve been taking the meds,” Bucky said quietly nearly off to one side.

Fury's tone softened, “Are you talking to yourself or someone else?"

_"He thinks you’re crazy."_

"Well I am crazy, I'm talking to you aren't I." Bucky's answer to the Voice was out of his mouth before he could give it any thought. The time in isolation with only the Voice and Mother to talk to had left him with his guard down. 

_"He’s watching you. Stop talking to me. He’ll drag you off to the Raft."_

Bucky looked wide-eyed at Fury. “I, um, I can’t talk to you now. I have to go.” Bucky turned abruptly and walked quickly to the bike.

Fury studied him as he walked away. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. If it was sympathy, sadness, amusement, what he did know was that he wanted to shop the mission ideas to Barnes and Rogers as soon as they'd let him in the front door. "Voices, self-dialogue, paranoia, hallucinations, could be worse, could be catatonic. We can do this Barnes. If I can get past Rogers.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“What exactly were you thinking putting her in that chopper with him?” Steve was standing square-shouldered facing Sharon.

“That was my call, Steve.” She defended. “I felt we needed to keep our hands on her ourselves. And I thought you could control him better than that.” She gave a flippant gesture towards Bucky who had planted himself next to Steve’s bike.

“There you go again, Sharon, implying he is something to be controlled.” Steve didn't try to hide his anger.

Natasha joined in the argument, “You wanted him to lose it. You baited him.” She crossed to confront her. “What was that all about with the gun?”

“You stunned me.” Sharon pointed a finger at Natasha. ”You didn’t even give me a chance to stand down.”

Nat took a step towards her, “You shouldn’t have drawn the gun, to begin with, Sharon he’s one of us now.”

Fury retreated to stand with Sam and their now conscious prisoner. “This might be the safest spot at the airport right now.” He drawled.

Sam shrugged.

 

Bucky leaned against Steve’s bike and watched the argument from a distance. He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. He was shivering from the tranquilizer withdrawals, never mind he was hungry, angry, lonely and tired. 

His head was pounding, he couldn’t remember the last food or water he’d had, “Oh, and the meds, where the hell are they?” He wondered.

_"You smell horrible Soldier. Even worse than that time in Cuba where you spent three weeks sweating in that pig farm…."_

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

_"Look at how cute he is over there defending your honor."_

He opened his eyes and frowned.

_"She nearly won. She nearly got you to kill him."_

“No. I won. I tried to kill her; not him. The chopper spin was a stupid mistake. Won’t happen again.”

_"All of you nearly died. A glorious death for Hydra. Mother, Pasha and the Avengers."_

“No. Not Avengers anymore. Not glorious. Not Mother. Not Pasha.”

_"She still controls you, Soldier."_

“Sorry pal. Not anymore.”

 

The old widow was staring at Bucky. He could feel her eyes on him. His conversation with the Voice caused him to glance sideways in her direction. Their eyes connected, she beckoned him closer.

Bucky felt the pull of her control even if he wanted to deny it, he felt their bond, sick as it was. He wanted to go to her. Wanted to speak to her one last time. He didn’t need the Voice to tell him it was stupid.

Sam twitched a little when he saw him approach. “Barnes we got her don’t aggravate yourself.” But Bucky kept coming. He paused a few feet away from her and looked at the ground.

“Pasha. Will I see you again?” Her voice sounded fragile after he nearly choked her to death.

“No. Mother. You will not.” He kept his eyes averted.

“I am still Mother, am I?”

“No. It’s just a word. The name you told me to call you years ago.” He said softly.

“I cared for you. I nurtured you. I am your mother beyond a word.”

“No. You did none of those things - you broke me.” Bucky worried at his lower lip.

Steve and the argument grew quiet.

“You couldn’t kill me today, child. I knew you would never hurt me.”

He raised his eyes to look at her. “I tried to kill you. I would have killed you.” He raised his metal fist and closed the fingers in front of her face. ”I couldn’t close my fingers tight enough.” He snarled as he demonstrated his malfunctioning hand.

She shook her head. “I loved you. I loved her.” The woman almost sounded tearful.

Natasha whispered, “Don’t fall for it, Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head slowly and growled “No. You loved no one but yourself.”

“I loved Ale….”

His head snapped up as he spit, “Don’t even say her name. You betrayed her.” He took a sharp step towards her.

Everyone jumped at his sudden movement. Steve kept moving towards him quietly, not wanting him to face her alone. Bucky’s anger was gone as soon as it flared. He stared hard at her “No woman, you lost today. I am done with you. I feel nothing for you.”

Steve stood behind him,“Come on Buck, let’s get out of here.” Bucky stayed focused on the old woman.

“Child, you loved me once. You still do.” She actually sounded desperate.

Bucky narrowed his eyes the rage that triggered the chopper mess flashed up again but this time he turned it cold. He dredged up the Winter Soldier to end his exchange with his last handler. “Love? No. I never loved you. I was your captive, your pawn, you used me.  You handled me. I was the asset, a weapon, nothing more. And now I am done with you.”

He turned to walk away, Steve fell in beside him.

“Pasha you belong to me, not him. You will always belong to me.”

Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned sharply back towards her.

“Buck, no, don’t she’s baiting you,” Steve begged him to keep walking away.

He stalked up to her so she nearly fell back against Sam and Fury to look up at him. “I was your property for too long, what you will never understand in all of your pathetic life, I have always belonged to him. I will always belong to him. You never owned that part of me.”

He stepped back and looked uncertain for a moment as he realized what he’d said in front of everyone. How he just admitted his deepest secret. He blinked to clear his vision and turned his back on her one final time. He paused in front of Steve and nodded, they fell into step and headed for the bike.

“Soldat! We will see one another again. I feel sure of it.”

Sam grabbed her arm and shoved her towards the waiting van.

 

Steve hesitantly asked “Hey. You ok?” when they arrived at the bike.

“Picking up where we left off, huh?”

Steve looked confused.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Bucky shrugged.

“Right. I keep asking if you’re ok. Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Keep asking, it’s ok." He mumbled, "I like it.”

Steve turned to slot the shield to the front of the bike.

“Hey, that’s my star. You stole my star.” Bucky pointed past Steve at the shield.

He smiled “Your star? I don’t think you have a patent on red stars, do you?”

He slid a little closer to Bucky as he teased, “Besides it’s just a little different color from yours so not completely like yours.” He brushed against Bucky as he threw his leg over the bike.

“Ah, Steve, I like the new outfit. Should have been black though.” Bucky murmured.

Steve started the bike, “You need a ride or are you stubbornly walking somewhere?”

Bucky shuffled his feet just a little then settled behind Steve holding onto his belt.

He leaned his chin on Steve’s shoulder and sighed “Take me home.”

 


	15. The Wound is the Place Where the Light Enters You.      Rumi

Natasha’s phone pinged. It was Steve. She was behind the glass partition, watching Fury interrogate Gieta Sokolov, the Black Widow; Red Room handler; Hydra operative; independent contractor.

She answered the call quietly. “Do not tell me you lost him already. It’s only been two hours.”

“No, Nat not lost. All is well.” Steve struggled with the code speak. They had worked hard on how to talk about Bucky on the phone without talking about Bucky. “I have him in the bath.”

They finally settled on “Steve, imagine he’s a puppy.”

The next statement didn’t work in puppy speak.

“Nat….he kissed me.”

Silence. Then.

“Do not kiss him back.”

“Too late.”

“Steve we talked about this. Can you say the word VULNERABLE? Do not act on this. I know you don’t listen to anyone but you will regret this.” Natasha whispered fiercely.

“I know, I know but he looks so lost. He’s following me around the house. I want him, I mean I want him with me. I want him to feel safe and if being close to me makes him feel safe; so be it.”

“Steve there’s close and there’s too close. Sitting with him and kissing him are two different things, never mind fucking him; that’s just a whole new level of ‘not a good idea’.”

“That’s it, Nat I think he would, you know, do “it” just to be close to someone. Close to me. I’ve never seen him like this; he’s so heterosexual. I never thought he’d want me ….” Steve’s voice trailed off.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Heterosexual?” She mouthed to herself.

“Please, trust me. He’s too vulnerable right now and we are breaking the no-talking-on-the-cell-phone rules already. Even if you aren’t scared I’ll kill you, at least think about him. I know the last thing you want to do is hurt him.”

“I can do this.” He offered weakly.

“Feed him, a lot, tuck him in on the sofa; utilize Sam as a chaperone. I’ll be home as soon as I can. And Steve, your homework assignment is writing ‘Dodger is vulnerable’ a thousand times. I’ll expect to see that when I get there.”

 

Steve let out a ragged sigh as he dropped his head back against the wall. He could hear the shower running as he stood outside the downstairs bedroom. As much as he wanted Bucky in ‘that way’ he wanted him as an equal; not because he felt lost or lonely or was trying to fill in some kind of all-consuming post abuse emptiness. Steve resolved to be strong for both of them. “Besides he likes women, that kiss was just because he was drugged.”

 

Bucky stood so the hot water beat down on his left shoulder. It always hurt even with the new lighter Vibranium arm. His pain was so constant it was nearly an entity like the Voice; always there interjecting its opinion on everything he did. The pain wasn’t a friend or a lover; more like an appendage that didn’t fit the norm but was a part of him nevertheless. He’d long ago stopped thinking about the metal arm as something inflicted on him. It had slowly become part of who he was; accepted it as a defining characteristic; like the color of his eyes. Hydra had once tried to cover it with something like skin. He tore it off each time until they finally gave up. He found comfort in the way it whirred and shifted; the new arm was even better; sliding smoothly; efficiently. But now: he had wrenched it trying to escape from that chain and the cage; not to mention “this whole mental instability thing” had interrupted any routine maintenance. It was clunking and clicking and now he couldn’t close his fist. “Well just when I got the right arm working.” He moaned.

The heat comforted his aching muscles. He carefully stretched his arms up the shower wall as he lengthened his back; forehead pressed against the tile. He spread his legs to allow the water to stream across his ass and bring its warm touch down his thighs. He slowly hunched then arched his back; soothing the cramping muscles; lengthening every fiber. He pushed away from the wall to face the water and let it wash away the lingering grime and pain. He scrubbed the soaped facecloth over his chest; caressed his abdomen; slipped it between his legs. He dropped the cloth and brushed his soapy hand over his cock; his fingers drifted secretively across his ass to explore his hole with a tentative fingertip. Steve’s tightly beautiful body manifested in his mind; he brought back the feeling of that body pressed close behind him as the chopper fell. He licked his lips trying to bring back the taste of Steve's mouth; recall how he gave in to the kiss on the roof. A warmth grew in his belly with the memory of the ride home on the bike; his body wrapped around Steve's; the feel of his cock pressed against his ass, how he dug his fingers beneath the uniform looking for contact with his flesh. His hand slipped back to caress his cock slowly at first; building his effort to bring hardness, he watched his hand move along his own flesh; he invited in the image of Steve's hand wrapped around his cock, bringing him to the pleasure he so desperately wanted.

_"What's the point. It won't get hard. You can't even remember the last time..."_

Bucky groaned and let go. 

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve stood frozen against the bedroom wall; facing the open bathroom door. He came back with the clean clothes and walked into the darkened bedroom to find Bucky in the shower with the door wide open. He wanted to look away; knew he should walk away. He didn’t want to violate his trust….but once he saw him, the long lines of his body, the filled out thighs; the graceful curves of his hips and ass. He couldn't look away. 

“How the hell did he get to look like that in captivity?”

He took in the sensual slow stretch of his body under the comfort of the warm water. Steve slid down the wall when Bucky dropped the facecloth to touch himself. He groaned quietly as his cock filled with watching his finger explore his hole. He imagined what it would feel like to be the one exploring his body; called up the memory of his possessive embrace as they rode home. 

Steve wasn't sure why Bucky stopped touching himself but it brought a mixed sense of relief as he pushed down the half erection and moaned ”I can not handle watching Bucky jerk off.”

Steve couldn't remember a time when he wasn't drawn in by the beauty of his friend's body, even if it was never or would never be spoken. He'd wanted him since the beginning, that was not going to change. Steve knew it was more than sexual. Bucky's strength, sense of honor, loyalty, all the unnamed qualities that make a person who they are; defined Steve's attraction to his friend. Now with this post-Hydra version, there were scars. The physical ones were obvious and picked at Steve's sense of righteous anger. He counted from a distance the marks; watched the twinges of pain on Bucky's face, the catch in how he moved at times; he recalled the twitching movements that came and went with stress or confusion. His foray into the fantasy of touching him was dispelled by the sight of the fresh network of blue-black bruising that spread from his shoulder down his back. He pulled himself up to walk away and end his voyeurism but hesitated. 

He heard Bucky talking.

 

"Listen, pal. I get it." 

 " _So Soldier are you going to do it?"_

Bucky shook his head, trying to dislodge the Voice so he could finish in peace.

_"Soldier? Are you going to have sex with him?"_

Bucky groaned in frustration as he shut off the water.

_"You kissed him. He kissed you back. You should do it. Remember how much you’ve missed a gentle touch."_

“I did not. He did not. NO! Yup, I might miss it but he’s my friend, that’s it. Shut up!”

Bucky turned abruptly to step out of the shower but found Steve staring intently at him from the doorway, he had an armful of clothing.

“Ah…hi….” Bucky stammered out.

“Sorry I thought you were talking to me.” Steve choked out.

Bucky blushed slightly; he looked away and licked his lips nervously.

“Yeah, well maybe…not so much.” He whispered.

Bucky stood unencumbered; unabashedly naked; water dripping down his body. He took a hesitant step towards Steve, then another; their eyes locked.

Steve's face turned red; his gaze dropped reflexively to his friend's cock.

“Shit. I promised Nat this wouldn’t happen.” He groaned silently as he forced his eyes back to meet the challenging stare.

Bucky's hand moved slowly towards him. He took a shaky deep breath in anticipation.

Bucky rasped out “Towel…I need a towel.”

Steve shook his head and glanced to his left; at the three plush towels just out of reach. 

“Oh, of course, sorry, here ya go.” He grabbed one and held it out while he shifted his gaze to the wall.

“Thanks.” Bucky quickly turned away. 

“Your back…it’s bruised…that’s new….did you, what did she…”

Bucky cut him off, “I hurt my shoulder that’s all it’ll be fine.”

“Maybe we should get Cassie out here.”

“No! I don’t want anyone here. I don’t want anyone touching me; poking at me.” He pushed past Steve into the bedroom.

“You need to be checked, Buck. You’ve been captive for weeks; your arm is clanking and that bruising is new. Besides you’ve been off the medications for weeks.”

Bucky shook his head hard and glared at him, “I saw you staring at me, you like seeing me naked? That makes you feel good, better than me?” Bucky snarled. “You just going to keep me that way keep me naked or you want me to beg for my clothes?” He angrily pointed at the clothes in Steve’s arms.

“No. I didn’t mean to stare…I don’t want you…” Steve stammered out. “No. I was just holding them. Here.” He dropped the clothes on the bed and backed away.

He thought about arguing; defending himself; taking up Bucky’s challenge. But Natasha’s homework assignment floated by. "Dodger is vulnerable.” He decided to not take the bait. This outburst was strange, illogical. 

“You’re right I shouldn’t have stared like that. I’ll give you some space. Sorry.” Steve retreated.

 

_"Nice work Soldier."_

“Shut the fuck up or I will rip you outta my head with my barely functioning metal fingers.”

Bucky dropped onto the bed; leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees; letting his wet hair drip onto the floor between his feet.

“Asshole.”

He pawed through the pile of clothes. He pulled out a pair of black fleece sleep pants and pulled them on. They were soft, warm and comfortable; unlike anything, he had ever worn, ever.

He tugged on a pair of heavy, warm socks and wiggled his toes.

“Pathetic jerk.”

He grabbed the black T-shirt but something on the dark blue one caught his eye. He held it up so he could see the front image.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” He moaned as he pulled the blue one over his head.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Wow. What was that.” Steve ran his hands through his hair and dropped onto the sofa; praying that Sam would get there soon to help diffuse the situation. In the two hours since Bucky was back in his presence, it had been a roller coaster ride of emotions. Bucky had literally clung to him; pushed him away, pulled him back in; snapped at him; then outright flirted only to snarl fifteen seconds later. Steve found hope in one thought “He’s off his meds.” He called Cassie. “The puppy’s home!” He announced with fake cheerfulness. “Bring pizza..lots of it.” He hoped she wouldn’t put him on meds as well.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky padded into the kitchen to find Steve and Sam sitting at the island drinking beer.

“Hiya.” Steve had decided to start over; like nothing had happened.

Bucky tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt and looked at his feet then at Steve. “I’m sorry about …”

“Hey, no worries. I get it. Sit down. We’ve got some food on its way. You want a beer?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly as he took a seat “No beer not good with the meds.”

Steve shot Sam a look.

“You’re not taking them.” Steve reminded him gently hoping his words wouldn’t start the argument all over again.

“Yeah, I am.” Bucky countered as he crossed to where he had tossed the backpack. He dropped it on the island; unzipped it and dumped the contents out.

He pawed through the items with a frown and pushed an empty pill bottle towards Steve. “I only missed a few days I think.”

“How? You were...that woman…” 

Bucky shrugged as he sat back down. “I had a seizure I guess…it was in the best interest of the cause to medicate me.” He made it sound almost analytical. Cold.

Steve frowned.

Sam shook his head.

Bucky slid the watch towards Sam. “Sorry.” He mumbled without looking at him.

“It’s ok, bro. You must’ve needed it. Thanks. You can keep it though if it helps.”

Bucky shook his head no and pointed at Steve “I have him now; I’m good.”

“Hey, nice T-shirt.” Sam hitched his thumb towards Bucky.

He glanced down at the partly visible symbol on his chest. A faded red, white and blue shield with a central star on a sea of blue.

Bucky shrugged “Old relic.”

A loud beeping startled them. Bucky jumped from his seat nearly knocking it over.

“It’s ok, Buck it’s the perimeter alarm.” Steve tried to reassure him but Bucky was down the basement stairs before he finished his sentence.

“It’s Cassie and company.” Sam was checking the video on his phone.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve carried the pizza box down to the tactical room. He pushed aside a chair and squatted down. “Hungry?”

Bucky shook his head “No.”

“I dunno I thought I heard your stomach growling from the kitchen. How ‘bout I join you and we devour this pepperoni pizza…’cuz I for one am starving.” He started to crawl under the table.

“No. Not under here. This is for sleeping and hiding; not eating.”

Bucky crawled out; his arm clicking loudly; he crawled onto the table and settled in cross-legged; Steve followed suit; sliding the pizza box between them.

He tossed Bucky the ice tea bottle as he opened a beer.

They ate in silence for awhile before Bucky asked: “How did you find me?”

Steve was surprised he brought it up.

“A lot of detective work I guess. And a horse to be honest.”

Bucky stopped chewing and looked confused then added with a mouth full of food “That damn horse.”

“Not so damned she was being fed by a local girl. The um, owner, used the burner phone to call her and check on the horse.”

“Really? That was a trap. Ya know that right?”

“Yeah, yeah, Nat said that. But what other choice did I have?”

Bucky looked thoughtfully at him. “Leave me there. Not risk your own capture. Jerk.”

Steve laughed as he shook his head. “That crossed my mind. Definitely. You are an asshole after all and things have been pretty quiet around here without your antics.”

“So you didn’t miss me at all?” Bucky frowned.

“Nope. Went to bed early every night. Ate all the ice cream I wanted. Watched Game of Thrones with Nat and Sam.”

“Really? You ate all my ice cream?”

“Yup.”

“Well, at least Sam missed me.”

Steve stopped chewing and looked at him.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“Yes you do, you always have food on your face. But I’m staring because you used his name. Not Birdman.”

“Shit. I must be slipping. I promise I won’t do it again. Now get the food off my face.”

Steve paused then reached out with a napkin and carefully wiped the sauce from his chin.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky cautiously crept upstairs behind Steve. He had his metal fingers tucked in the belt loop at the back of his jeans. He had agreed reluctantly to abandon the makeshift bed under the tactical table to at least settle on the sofa.

“Come on Buck, they’re all friends. They’re worried about you and want to see you.”

“No talking. No touching.” He demanded.

“That’s fine. I”ll get you straight up to your bedroom.”

“Only if you stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.” He whispered.

Steve stumbled on that request. He wanted to lie down with him. Hold him. But the thought of Natasha finding them in bed together, however innocent, frankly scared him.

“Ok, the sofa then. I’ll stay right with you. Everyone will be quiet and let you sleep. You need to sleep, Buck.”

Maybe it was the carb coma or exhaustion or Bucky just didn’t give a fuck anymore. He came upstairs behind Steve; he tucked his head low near Steve’s shoulder. He didn’t want to chance any eye contact which was a good idea from his perspective since all eyes were on the two of them as they emerged from the basement. Cassie watched with her nurse practitioner assessment expression. Jonah smiled; happy to see them reunited. Alex stood with her arms crossed and the gold-colored cord curled in her fingers. Sam was in the living room fluffing pillows and shaking out two quilts just in case.

Steve settled in the corner of the sofa where he could stretch out his long legs on the L shape. Bucky’s head was on his thigh. He had curled on the sofa; covered in the two quilts; tucked a pillow between his knees and pulled the covers over his head so only a few stray wild swirls of hair stuck out.

Steve carefully laid his hand on what felt like Bucky’s shoulder. He could feel the metal fingers tightly wrapped around a piece of his T-shirt.

“Maybe you should try to sleep as well,” Cassie whispered as she spread a blanket over Steve.

“I’m not leaving him.”

She tucked a pillow behind his head and smiled.

“Got it, so sleep here.” She squeezed his shoulder and picked up her laptop to work in a corner chair.

Alex crossed to sit on the coffee table and stared at the lump that was Bucky under the covers.

Steve smiled at her as he tapped Bucky’s shoulder “Hey pal you’ve got a visitor. It’s Alex, can she talk to you?”

Bucky stirred. It looked like he nodded his head “yes.”

Alex was all business in her approach “I found the cord. I bet you thought you lost it.”

He nodded “Yes” again.

“Can I put it back where it belongs?”

Bucky slowly slipped his right hand out from under the covers so Alex could wrap the cord around his wrist again.

“So the cord is just a cord but it’s supposed to remind you about something called Kintsugi which is the belief that we are made more beautiful by our brokenness; our wounds don’t make us worthless, they make us better, stronger, more valuable.”

Bucky carefully tugged the covers down so he could see her.

“I couldn’t find the card so I made a new one.” She placed the card in his right hand.

Bucky finally read it. Then he tucked it under Steve’s thigh.

Alex thought she saw his eyes get a little glazed. She shuffled uncomfortably and braced to get up but his fingers caught her hand. She felt the gentle squeeze, then he pulled away as quickly as it started.

Steve was sure he saw a faint smile on her face as she jumped up and ran to the kitchen.

 

Later that night as Bucky slept sprawled on the sofa and everyone else had settled in somewhere throughout the house; Steve picked up the card.

“He left it under my thigh for a reason.” He justified.

He opened it carefully and read the simple prose.

 

_The wound is the place where the light enters you. Rumi_

_Kintsugi: the ancient Japanese art of repairing broken pieces with gold making it even more beautiful than before it was broken. Our brokenness is not a failing but our strength. It doesn’t make us worthless; it makes us better; more whole; more real. It makes us needed._

_Alex_

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve was on the front porch waiting for Natasha when she got home from the initial interrogations. It was nearly dawn; he had left Bucky asleep on the sofa after cautiously transferring the metal finger grip onto Sam’s sweatshirt.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Steve?” Sam whispered with some trepidation in his voice.

“Yes, he said your name, you should be good to go if he wakes up.”

“He said my name? Although that’s nice to hear that’s only normal human behavior. That is not an indication he will be pleased when he wakes up and finds he’s clinging to me and NOT YOU!” It took a lot to whisper all of that statement.

“He’s out. Trust me. He won’t wake up. I can tell.” Steve tip-toed off to the bathroom then to his real mission: meeting Natasha.

She was barely off the bike when he was on her. “What did she do to him?”

Natasha shook her head. “Steve, I’m not sure you want to do this right now.” She tried to push past him. He stopped her.

“What did she do to him, Nat.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s going to be helpful right now.”

She tried again to pass him. He grabbed her arm.

“I am going to overlook that, Steve. It’s been extremely stressful and we are all exhausted. You need to take your hands off of me. And trust me when I tell you…knowing the details will do you no good and will certainly not help him.” She glared at him.

He let go of her arm and looked away. “I’m sorry Nat. I’m sorry. He was getting better. This is such a setback. He’s bouncing back and forth from hiding under the table to challenging me; like I’m trying to hold some kind of power over him.”

Natasha made it to the front door and read the hand-made sign. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow:

QUIET! SLEEPING DODGER INSIDE.

“Okay.” She mumbled as she plopped down on the stairs.

“That’s anger, Steve, he’s been abused, he’s angry and he’ll lash out at anyone; even you; especially you. It doesn’t make sense to you but it does to him, in a weird sort of way.”

Steve sighed as he sat next to her. “What did she do to him? I need to know.”

“No, you don’t. Not now anyway. All that matters is that he moves forward right now. The details aren’t going to help you move forward with him.”

“At least tell me who she is. He called her mother? What is that all about? She called him ‘child’ and who the hell is Pasha? Although I gathered it’s Bucky.”

“In a nutshell; she was tasked with conditioning him sometime in the 1960s or 70s after he spent time training the girls in the Red Room. She was his handler for a couple of years. He only knew her as Mother, he never knew her name, probably still doesn’t know it. Steve this is deep conditioning, Stockholm Syndrome type stuff. The fact he walked away from her yesterday tells us a lot; tells us he’s started to break that bond.”

“Started?” Steve felt sick.

Natasha didn’t answer him. She stood up and crossed to the front door.

“Fury wants to debrief later today. He has some ideas about a mission. He wants to present it to us; including Barnes. It’s time to turn the tables. It’s time to put a gun in his hands; even if he isn't going to kill anyone...he can certainly take out a few kneecaps.”

"What's this about kneecaps?"

"Steve he didn't kill anyone at that facility. Every one of them had some type of non-fatal wound. I don't think the Winter Soldier just missed randomly. He missed the kill shots on purpose."

Ultimately Steve wasn't surprised at that news. But he did agree that as terrifying as it sounded, "Maybe it is high time he got a chance at some serious payback.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Maybe Nat or Alex should be doing this.” Steve struggled with the scrunchie and Bucky’s hair as he sat at the kitchen island. It had gotten even longer, well past his shoulders, and he was flatly refusing to cut it. His metal arm was getting worse even overnight and he couldn’t maneuver the fingers very well, therefore “Steve you need to put my hair up. Now.”

Bucky had agreed, with several stipulations, to allow Cassie to examine him and wanted his hair up and off his neck and back so she wouldn’t feel compelled to touch him any more than what was absolutely necessary.

“Nooooo. Not her.” Bucky loudly protested the idea of Natasha helping. But the idea of Alex brought forth a more subdued “Maybe her.”

“Thank god,” Steve mumbled as he shot the scrunchie to Alex who was already standing nearby in the on-deck circle.

“You’re too tall in the chair for me to reach,” Alex said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Bucky frowned and slipped out of the chair and looked down at her; gauging exactly how much he’d have to compromise his advantage to obtain her help.

Steve felt himself wanting to scream “Just kneel down for god sake’s she’s a munchkin, you can take her.” He refrained.

Bucky swallowed hard and dropped to his knees to sit back on his heels so she could gather up his hair and pull it into a ponytail.

She was quickly efficient “Too tight?”

He shook his head "No."

She walked away without hearing the mumbled “Thanks.”

 

Cassie sat facing Steve and Bucky in the tactical room, to sum up, her exam. She had deftly conducted it in the upstairs bedroom despite Bucky’s eyes never leaving her, his tensed body and his complete lack of verbal responses. Steve had been right by his side the whole time as he kept repeating in his head “What the fuck did that damned Widow do to him.”

Although Bucky seemed better around Steve, even Sam, he was mute and nearly explosively tense around any women. 

“Well, you are in remarkably good shape for your ordeal, James. You’ve gained weight and muscle mass so that’s good news. I understand you were able to keep taking the medications, correct?”

Bucky nodded slowly.

“You told Steve you had a seizure while you were away. Correct?”

He glanced at Steve then nodded ‘Yes’ again.

“Were you taking the medications at the time?”

He shook his head ‘No’.

“So not a break-through seizure; that’s good to know. That means the dosing is right for you all things considered.”

“I’ve brought the medications if you want to keep taking them?”

Bucky didn’t nod in either direction.

“Buck? You think you might not want them?” A wave of fear washed over Steve.

Bucky bit his lip then said “I’ll take them. But I don’t like the side effects.”

“Can you tell me more?” Cassie seemed genuinely concerned.

He shook his head ‘No.’

Steve leaned back so Bucky couldn’t see him and shook his head ‘No’ as well.

Cassie frowned a bit at the behind the back signals but let it go and added “James, you can call me or Jonah anytime to talk about side effects. Will you do that, please, before you stop them abruptly?”

He nodded ‘Yes.’

Steve breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Now about that shoulder. I think it’s all fixable with some work. King T’Challa has a team on the way…”

Bucky stood up abruptly and headed for the door.

Steve rolled his eyes and pleaded “Do not leave this room.”

“No more people, Steve. No more doctors, no more teams.” Bucky didn’t turn around but he did stop walking away.

Steve marched up behind him to whisper over his shoulder: “Do you want revenge? Payback? Do you want to wreck shit? Do you want to destroy these fuckers who tried to destroy you? They nearly destroyed us; you and me; they took you away from me for nearly 70 years. I, for one, want to take them apart for that and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to do that with you at my side.”

Bucky turned slowly towards Steve. He could see the cold anger in Steve’s blue eyes. They were so close Bucky would have only needed to lean forward an inch to run his tongue across Steve’s parted lips. Except he was still acutely aware of someone else in the room; so he breathed an answer that had many layers of meaning instead.

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kintsugi is a real process and concept. It originated in 15th Century Japan as a method of repairing priceless broken pottery with gold. The broken piece would then be even more beautiful because of its brokenness. It has become a philosophical concept associated with recovery.


	16. Confessions

 

“Sharon, I get it you funded our operation you’ve got that woman, the Widow.” He kept his voice low. “I know we need to process the rescue; I agree but what I’m telling you is not here, not tonight.” He mock punched the fridge.

“Yes, I am aware that you need our data. I understand the intel she’s providing is time-sensitive but we…” He rolled his eyes and added some expressive body language. “No, not here this is our home it is off limits.”

He crossed to the kitchen bulletin board, “I don’t get why you’re so insistent about meeting here." He pawed through the various mundane items; grimacing at the list of ‘Steve’s rules’ that Sam had posted.

There was a second list; the handwriting shaky; ‘Bucky’s rules.’ A response to Steve’s much longer list. Steve sighed quietly as he traced a finger across the lettering:  
No touching…unless I ask or touch first.  
No talking or texting about me.  
No strangers or ex-friends.  
No eating my ice cream.  
No leaving without telling Steve first.  
No leaving without the cell phone.  
No self-harm.

Bucky had reluctantly conceded the last three when Steve insisted. It tore at his heart to see Bucky struggle to agree to the ‘no self-harm’ concession.

He was jerked back into the conversation; “Interrogate? Did you just say interrogate my acquaintance? Are you joking? That woman tortured him and you want to interrogate him?” Steve kicked at the back door, a little harder than the mock punch to the fridge.“Oh, so I’m coddling him no, I disagree categorically and yes he, we, are more than capable of this mission.”

He crossed to glance into the living room; he was afraid Bucky was listening to him break rule number two. “Your agenda is not more important than the people who live here.” He could see Bucky sitting on the sofa. Steve found he had to put his eyes on him every fifteen minutes or so. Even if Nat had banned touching him, he could look.

Since getting him back, Steve had to keep checking on him; watching him, as if he would somehow disappear. He found himself staring for long moments at inopportune times; that got annoying fast. "Stop staring at me, Steve." Bucky had made his discomfort clear. "No staring when showering or naked or peeing!” Steve groaned at having to be told the last one.

“What? Tomorrow?” He was relieved by her change in focus “Right, tomorrow night at the warehouse. I will check with my team and let you know. Yes, the team gets to vote, Sharon.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

  
Bucky tucked himself cross-legged in the corner of the sofa, using his fingers to shovel in the leftover kung pao chicken from Sam’s “I’m starving” episode three nights previous. Staring at the blank TV screen.

Steve muttered, “Watching your favorite program, Buck?”   
“Yup.” Bucky ignored the attempt at teasing.  
He grabbed the debrief paperwork and joined him on the sofa.  
“That chicken’s still good?” Skepticism driven by Bucky’s profound lack of skills in discerning when food had spoiled.  
“Yup. Want some?” Bucky held the container under Steve’s nose.  
“Nope.” Steve slow pushed the container away from his face and propped his feet on the coffee table.  
“You were talking about me to that woman.”  
Steve frowned and kept reading “You mean Sharon. We never said your name.”  
“Not good enough it was still about me. With her.” Steve clearly missing the point.  
“You’re right she wanted to come here to debrief about the rescue mission and I said no.”  
“Thanks for that. But not a rescue, I escaped.”  
“Right, escape, it was a taxi mission.”

Steve tried to focus on reading and ignore the way Bucky licked each piece of chicken before he took a languid bite.  
He decided to launch into preparing him for the debriefing “So, she’s going to ask you about what happened.”

Bucky licked his thumb slowly. "What happened?”

“You know, the time you were captive.”

“Oh.” He sucked at his index finger and pulled another piece of chicken out to lick, slowly---every little crevice. “Why?”

Steve tried to not give in to the distraction of Bucky’s increasingly provocative consumption of the kung pao chicken.  
“Well, they have your, captor in captivity and want to ask you about what happened.”

Bucky licked his middle finger, long slow strokes of his tongue up one side and down the other; all while staring pointedly at Steve. “My captor is in captivity. How poetic.”

He slurped out the last bite and tossed the container on the table next to Steve’s foot; leveling his best “Whaddya gonna do about that” stare at him. He waited for the hundredth poor hygiene lecture since he got home.

Steve kept reading the report, lecturing himself “I will not lecture.”

“I’m sure she told them all about it. They don’t need me.” He continued the methodical application of his tongue to every surface of his fingers.

Steve could feel his cheeks finally give in to the blush that he knew Bucky was trying to elicit. He didn’t miss the smirk that settled on his face as he watched Steve shift.

“Buck you need to take this seriously they’re going to ask you what she did to you and why.” Steve finally looked at him.

“I am very serious about this, Steve.” He sucked at his pinkie finger.

“I can see that you’re serious about flirting with me or at least getting me to turn red. But I’m talking about that Widow.”

Bucky stopped mid-suck, leveling a curious stare. “You think I’m flirting? I’m just eating sticky chicken, Steve.” He finished sucking on his finger.

Steve gave him his full attention, “How can you do that? We’re talking about someone who tortured you not even two days ago and you’re sucking fingers and getting me to turn red. Aren’t you angry about what she did to you? I know I’m fucking furious about it.”

Bucky dropped his hand to his lap.

Steve studied him; thinking he looked pensive at first then he saw Bucky’s demeanor change a shift to distraction as if he was listening to someone else in the room.  
  
_"Might as well just tell him, Soldier. He’s stubborn. He’ll keep pestering you until he knows. Maybe it’s better this way, no more guessing no more secrets."_

“Well, I gotta have some secrets,” Bucky answered the Voice but Steve responded.

“Sure, Buck but they want to interview you. Sharon plans on grilling you. I don’t want you walking in there unprepared for that.”  
  
_"Soldier, tell him about Mother. He’ll stop asking. He’ll be angry."_

“I don’t want to tell him. You don’t know him like I do. He’ll never stop asking.” Bucky laughed “But you’re right he’ll be really really pissed when I tell him.”

”Who are you talking to?” Steve was surprised by Bucky’s answer. He turned to follow Bucky’s gaze, knowing that no one was going to be there. “Pal, are you ok? Bucky, look at me. No really look at me.” Steve leaned closer to try and get his attention. He watched his friend blink and refocus on him.

“I’m talking to you what’s wrong with you, Steve?”

Steve stared. Bucky had responded to the mention of the old Widow by talking to someone…not there.

“Forget it I think it’s better if you don’t tell them anything. Ok?”

“I can tell you, Steve, if you really want to know,” Bucky spoke softly.

Steve searched for the right answer regretting he ever brought up what he’d been through.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I don’t need to know and neither does Sharon. You’re right. That woman will tell them or she won’t; you don’t need to answer their questions.”

Steve took a long look at his friend. So many emotions rolling around in his heart; concern, affection, rage; the Bucky in front of him forever changed from his childhood friend. Steve was willing to admit he was perplexed by this version; intrigued by the sultry stare as he licked his fingers all while sitting there with bed-head and a Captain America T-shirt on.

Steve shook himself out of yet another episode of Bucky musings “So we need to get moving, pal.” He jumped up from the sofa and ruffled Bucky’s hair as he passed him. “Big day today…gotta get your arm fixed.” Bucky leaned into Steve’s touch for as long as it lasted then Steve was gone up the stairs.

_"You were flirting with him, pal. You don`t even like sticky chicken."_

“Yeah, yeah. A guy can flirt, can’t he? Not that he’ll ever do anything about it.”

_"He saw you talking to me. You can`t hide me much longer."_

“I know I saw that. Soon maybe, maybe he'll be ok with you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Why did you give him the keys to the truck?” Natasha groaned.  
“He said it would make him feel more in control if he had the keys.” Steve defended.  
“You trusted him with the keys.” Sam equally astonished at Steve’s misjudgment.  
“I wasn’t thinking he’d lock himself in. Most people lock themselves out of vehicles; not lock themselves in.” Steve returned their frustration.  
Steve, Nat, and Sam stood in a line; in front of the truck as it sat parked in the sweltering sun. Bucky locked in with the windows shut tight.

About an hour before, things were going a lot better: Bucky wandered into the living room.  
Steve sputtered out his coffee when he saw him. “Wow, you look great.”  
Bucky clean-shaven; hair tucked back in a low pony-tail, compliments of Natasha.  
“Who knew you could put hair up without actually touching a person.” She threw in as she saw Steve’s shocked, bordering on lust-full stare.

Bucky had on a dark grey Henley that wrapped his chest nearly as intimately as Steve’s shirts did. The black jeans hugged his ass so well Steve didn’t need to imagine much about what he looked like beneath the material. The wild-eyed pressured look of paranoia missing, at least for the moment but the closer it came to go-time the more he unraveled.

 

“Come on, you can do this you want to be able to lift your arm, right. You can step off the porch, buddy.” Steve cajoled.

“Barnes, damn it, you’re the Winter Soldier channel that badass. Get in the truck.” Sam urged.

“James, I still owe you fifty dollars how ‘bout I make it an even one hundred and we get on the road here.” Natasha tried bribery which almost worked but Bucky couldn’t remember why she owed him fifty dollars so he was a no-go on that plan.

He stood immobile on the porch; his metal arm wrapped around the column as tight as he could; given the malfunction.  
“You don’t understand, Steve every time I leave the house bad shit happens to me. I get kidnapped, choppers swoop in, evil handlers show up, Hydra’s chasing me, even that damn horse bit me.” He mumbled.

Steve slipped behind Bucky to rest his chin on his flesh shoulder. “I get it.” He ran his hand across his lower back “But we’re going to take back their power over us. Right?”

Bucky whispered, “Everything freezes on the inside; I can't think, I can't breathe or move.”

“I know, I get it.” Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky’s wrist and fingered the gold cord. “We can do this. You can do this. One minute at a time.”

Bucky’s tension eased just enough to allow Steve's gentle tug on his wrist to pull him away from the porch and down the stairs.

But now the looming backdoor to the clinic brought a fresh wave of anxiety and the ill-thought out plan of locking himself in the truck.

Steve crossed to the passenger door’s closed window.

“Buck, come on. You know everyone here. You agreed to do this. We’re going to wreck shit, remember?” 

“Plus we’re going to that burger place after we’re done here.” In addition to the prospect of putting some hurt on Hydra, Steve had thrown in the added perk of “All you can eat burgers and fries” to finally get Bucky into the truck.

Steve stood as close as he could to the window and whispered, “You can lick your fingers all you want I’ll even watch.”

Bucky stared at the floor of the truck, rocking ever so slightly. “I can’t. My feet won’t move. I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Steve decided to go inside to see if Jonah or Alex could help. “Please keep an eye on him.” He begged Sam and Natasha as he went for help.

Sam announced, “I do not want to watch Barnes lick anything.”  
Natasha leaned on Sam and looked thoughtfully “Hmmm…”

“Twenty bucks says I can get him out of the truck.” Sam offered.  
“Seriously? You think he’ll get out for you when he’s mutely ignoring Steve?”   
“We’ve bonded. He’ll do it for me.” Sam exuded confidence.  
“Bonded?” Natasha huffed. “How’d that happen?”  
“Not sure, but he used my name. We’re buds now. You’re still the Red Head.” Sam offered a smug smile.  
“Really? Ok, you’re on. Fifty bucks.” Natasha played hardball. “Three minutes each flip a coin to see who goes first.”

Sam won the toss.  
“Barnes. If you get out we'll hit that pizza place with the 1940's jukebox. My treat." Sam tried the food as a bribe method and after three minutes of cajoling; begging, and persuading all he got was Bucky’s metal middle finger.

“You’re up.” He conceded.  
  
Two minutes and 58 seconds later: Bucky’s feet were on the ground; the keys were in Natasha’s pocket; Steve was at the back door of the clinic with Jonah, and Sam’s jaw was slack. “How the hell….”  
Nat winked at him.  
Steve mouthed "Thank you" as he ushered Bucky into the clinic.

“Was that some kind of ex-assassin camaraderie thing?”  
Natasha showed him her phone. “I told him I’d show him this while he got his arm worked on.”  
Sam looked over her shoulder; it was the edited security video from the chopper brawl. It was a beautiful display of Natasha’s stun discs taking Sharon down over and over and over.

“Cheater.” But Sam was impressed.

  
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

_"You really screwed it up this time, Soldier. That damn piece of machinery isn’t a toy."_

  
Bucky sat completely still on the exam table, his eyes squeezed shut. His stomach, heart, and emotions wound around one another in a twisted knot of terror and pain. The explosion waiting for just the right push to pour his raging feelings out and over anyone in his path.

  
_"You’re lucky there are grown-ups around to fix that thing. You’re a pathetic loser. You didn’t need to throw yourself around like that; you’re a Soldier, trained to respond methodically not like some scared shitless novice."_

  
Bucky tried to slow his breathing; he grabbed at the emotions whirling past in his mind and pulled them back in; something about a leaf kept bumping down his rage.

  
_"Now you’ll never be able to fight; never shoot a gun again, you’re worthless to us. Worthless to anyone. Even that blond headed muscle-man Captain America won’t want you. Broken arm, broken mind, broken spirit."_

  
“Shut up just shut the fuck up. Get away from me.” Bucky growled.

  
The technicians working on his arm froze.

  
“Ah….he’s ok. No worries.” Steve's voice brought him out of his inner dialogue.   
Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve standing beside him, his hand on his flesh shoulder. He saw the frightened workers backing away from him. He hated that look.

  
“Sorry…sorry…I…wasn’t talking to you….” He groaned. “I’m sorry… It’s ok, I’m ok.”  
Steve looked across the room for Cassie to weigh in.

  
“James, this is clearly too stressful for you. You’re self-dialoguing; your heart rate is accelerated, you’re diaphoretic. I know you hate the idea of medications and IVs but they’ve been working for an hour and can’t get past basic testing. Let me start an IV and have you relax. You’ll sleep through it. Steve and your friends will be right here.”

Steve stood as close as he could without touching him. “Please do this Buck I won’t leave I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll carry you out of here myself if I think something is going wrong.” Steve had to use all of his self-restraint to keep from stroking Bucky’s cheek; to keep from pulling him close.  
”Carry me out?” He laughed shakily. “Have Wilson videotape that. I was talking wasn’t’ I?” He asked but didn’t ask. He knew the truth of it.  
Steve nodded, “Yeah..a lot. The techs are scared.” 

  
A resigned, “Ok, I get it. I need to do this. Ok, I’ll let her do the medications.”  
Steve's pointed glance towards Cassie gave her their permission.  
Bucky muttered, “Don’t leave me.”   
“No way staying right here.”   
“And have Wilson come in. And, the Red……Romanova.”  
“You got it. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

Steve couldn’t refrain from the touch; a palm on Bucky’s cheek, a stolen caress before the others came in.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

  
Natasha Googled the best burger joint near Hope, New York while Bucky was under.

  
Steve parked the truck in a far corner of the parking lot; it was long past dark when they finally emerged from the clinic. “You ok?”  
“Great. Feeling great.” Bucky gave him a thumbs up and nodded with exaggerated vigor, slapstick happy in the wake of the procedure medications.  
“Locking you in. Be right back. I have the keys.” He held them up to assure himself more than Bucky.

Steve laughed close to out loud as he waited for their food as he recalled how the procedure went. Once medicated enough to relax, it became a matter of keeping him subdued to get the work done. Steve replayed Bucky’s disinhibited chatter:  
“How hot is Steve?” A loud whisper directed across the room towards Sam and Natasha.  
Hysterical laughter while watching Nat’s video “That was so great; you kept her from shooting me.” He waved for Natasha’s hand. “Thank you so much.”

  
It got serious when he started to talk about the old widow.  
“Mother wanted to help me. She tried to take the words out.” He tapped his head awkwardly.  
“I told her she’d fuck up my arm with that damn stun prod.”  
Everyone shuffled with discomfort.

He finally dozed off but not before he revealed to the entire room “I so want to fuck Steve.”  
“No kidding,” Natasha muttered.  
“Too much info buddy.” Sam laughed.  
Stifled laughter through the room when Steve blurted, “Oh my god!” and fumbled to put his hand over Bucky’s mouth.  
  
”If you repeat what he said I will kill you in your sleep.” Steve threatened both Natasha and Sam as they headed home.

 

Steve found a remote picnic table and settled Bucky in with a large tray of cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings and milkshakes. He sat down next to him.

“Steve…I can’t remember seeing this much food ever.” Bucky made an expansive gesture that nearly knocked over a young girl walking by him. He was still pretty disinhibited from the massive dose of anti-anxiety medications and muscle relaxants needed to get him through the procedure.

“Oops..sorry little girl.” Bucky reached for her but pulled back. Despite the long sleeve Henley, he wasn’t hung over enough to forget about his metal hand being uncovered.  
  
“So how’s the arm now?”  
“Great!” He demonstrated a tight lethal looking fist; picked up an onion ring and popped it into his mouth. He reached out and touched Steve’s hand; “I can feel you.”  
Steve smiled at the touch. “How much can you feel with it?”

Bucky grabbed a cluster of French fries and answered as he chewed.  
“Hot, cold, pressure, weight. Not like this hand.” He waved his right hand at him. “But enough to pull a trigger; feel a pulse.”  
They ate in silence for a minute.

Steve wondered “Does it feel pain? I mean, are you still in pain?”  
“You mean like when a bullet hits it? No. That’s pressure and heat.” He slurped down the first milkshake.  
“But yeah, my shoulder hurts….all the time. Better now, then again good drugs.” He shrugged as he ate half a burger in one bite.  
The ‘good drugs’ gave Steve access to more truth than Bucky would have ever shared without them.

Steve watched Bucky eat; watched his animated gestures; listened to his happy yet sarcastic chatter. He could see the before Bucky, his friend from Brooklyn. But the now Bucky dominated. Dark, dangerous; changed by the damage inflicted on him. Steve felt the attraction of his complexity, colored by regret that it took a massive amount of drugs to open this window.  
Steve resolved, “Somehow I’ll find a way in.”

Bucky started laughing “Steve, you said I could lick and you’d watch. Romanova and Wilson were grossed out, you should’ve seen their faces!” A deliberate eating of the fries one at a time and licking the salt and ketchup left behind. Steve watched as promised.

Bucky’s laughter died down, a look of slipping away, or maybe something else. A hint of a smile towards Steve, he picked up another fry; a bite and then an offer of the rest of it to Steve.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked. 

“I’m offering you food,” Bucky drawled.

“I can get it myself,” Steve tried to ignore the provocative look in his eyes.

“It’s better this way," a growled whisper.

“How is it better coming from your dirty hands?” Steve tried to ignore the invitation.

“It’s better because when you eat it, you’ll have to lick my fingers,” Bucky offered with faux innocence, his hand moving closer to Steve’s mouth. A slow sucked in bottom lip showed his anticipation of the wet, warm stroke of Steve's tongue on his fingers.

“I can get my own, Buck," a pathetic attempt to stop his hand, but his fingers caressed Bucky's wrist. He knew he would take that offered food; he would run his tongue over Bucky’s fingers; he knew it would end with his tongue curled around Bucky’s about 10 seconds after initial contact.

“I give up,” He sighed.

Steve parted his lips to allow the food in his mouth followed by Bucky’s fingers. Steve tasted the salt and sweetness; tasted Bucky’s skin. A held-close groan as metal fingers dug tight into his hip.

Bucky's leaned in study of Steve’s tongue slipping along his flesh; breath warm on Steve’s cheek pulled him to taste Steve’s skin, a flick of his tongue to his ear, a secret smirk for the shudder it pulled.

Steve’s hand slipped around Bucky’s throat to drag him closer, fingers gave way to their mouths pressed tight in their deep, all-consuming and hungry kiss; full of near a century of want. He could feel the power of Bucky’s need of him; the push of it almost frightening. He pulled at Bucky’s waist, wincing at the pleasure-pain of Bucky’s metal fingers digging into his hip. Steve gave in to his need for Bucky.

The feel of Bucky's mouth pressed to his own, the warmth of shared breath, fingers connected on skin and pulling their bodies together, began to overwhelm Steve's awareness of their surroundings. A curt loud voice yanked him from the moment, “Don’t look dear, disgusting." His too-late glance saw the mother dragging her daughter past them. 

Steve struggled to push Bucky away.

“Wait, we can’t do this.” Steve choked out and pulled further away.

“Yes. Yes, we can do this.” Bucky pulled him back in trying to hold onto the moment.

“No. We can’t. You’re hungover; those drugs; this isn’t right.”

“So what I know what I’m doing. So do you. No one’s forcing me.” Bucky protested.

“Buck, we’re in public.” Steve pulled away again.

“Steve you kissed me back. You felt it, I felt it. Don’t stop it.” Bucky grabbed at Steve’s jacket to pull him close again.

“Yes. I feel it but, we can’t do this now.” An attempt to divert roaming hands.

Anger crossed Bucky’s face. “What? Now as in here? Ok so let’s go home. Or what not home? Right, Birdman and the Red Head are there. So, ok the truck, we can do it in the truck.”

”No. Not here. Not at home. Not in the truck. Not now.” Steve ended the argument.

The hurt he saw on Bucky’s face something he wouldn't forget.

Bucky pushed away from the table and retreated to the truck.

Steve dropped his head into his hands and sighed “Okay, Nat you were right. I’m an idiot.”

<<<<<<<<<<<

  
The ride home less than an hour but it felt like four. Steve felt Bucky’s anger like the heat thrown off by a raging fire.

Bucky tore the scrunchie out of his hair and rolled the window down, head lolling back, eyes closed.

For a fleeting moment, a very quick moment, Steve thought about the puppy analogy. It had lost all of its humor.

“We need to talk, Buck,” Steve muttered.

“I don’t want to…talk.” The sarcasm palpable.

“Well, maybe I need to talk.” 

Steve couldn’t see the snarl that crossed Bucky’s face.

“I’m sorry, I let that go too far. That was my fault.” Steve kept replaying the “Dodger is vulnerable” homework that he did not do.

Bucky nodded then shook his head. “Right…of course. You let that happen. All your fault.”

“Yes. I should’ve been more responsible. I let that happen and now you’re angry and hurt, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

“Oh, I forgot, Steve Rogers, the good and noble Captain America…controls everything. You think you hurt me?” Bucky`s voice dropped low “You have no idea what hurt really is.”

Steve missed his hurt comment and forged ahead, “No, Buck, not true…you know me, you know the real me. I’m just trying to say….I should know better. I should be watching out for you……”

Bucky snapped “Yeah like I’m some stray dog.” He jerked towards Steve, “So if you’re the responsible one, what’s that make me? Huh? Makes me the irresponsible one. Right?”

“No. That’s not what I said or meant. I just meant, I know you’ve been through a lot and I need to not let stuff happen.”

“Maybe I wanted stuff to happen; maybe you want stuff to happen; maybe you should get honest with yourself.”

Steve ignored the get honest jab, “You're  vulnerable…you’ve been through hell it’s only been a few months and before that, you were in cryo and before that I only just found you.”

“I’m what? Vulnerable? Who have you been talking to?” Bucky laughed without humor.

Steve pulled the truck down the driveway. He had really hoped they could have ended this argument before they got home. Bucky threw the door open before the truck had come to a stop.

“You are so full of shit, Steve.” A spit out declaration as he slammed the door shut.

“Bucky, come on they’re asleep.” 

“Too fucking bad.” The battle moved to the front of the truck.

Steve lowered his voice, “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve been hurt; too much has happened to you; I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

Bucky didn't take the cue to quiet his attack, “So too much has happened…that means what…I’m too far gone I don’t get a life. I don’t get to kiss someone or fuck them; I just get to wallow around in this state of always being cared for like some fucking stray dog.”

“I’m not saying any of that.” Steve shook his head, he reached to calm him.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He rasped as he slapped his hand away.

Bucky growled “Know what, Steve, I get it actually. I get what you’re saying. All this time you’ve said it over and over. You’re the responsible one; you’re taking care of me; you’re the handler.”

Steve shook his head ‘no’ emphatically.

Bucky stepped closer but didn't lower his voice, “What you’re really saying is --- I’m defective. I’m crazy. I’m too fucked up to mess with. Oh yeah, the noble Steve Rogers will be my friend and protect me, he’ll show all his buddies how good he is by standing by his best friend from childhood you’ll make sure everyone sees that Rogers. But when we’re behind closed doors I’m too fucked up for you. Too broken for you to be with. I know what you’re saying.”

Steve didn't back away from his anger physically but, “You are so far from the truth of it.”

Bucky shook his head a step towards the front porch, he stopped with his back to Steve. A muttered, “Ya know, maybe that voice in my head is right maybe it’s time for a confession or two.”

He took a deep breath; closed his eyes; “I’ve --- wanted you since the beginning --- of time. Since long before the army or the serum or Zola or Hydra. But I never thought you felt the same way so I was happy to keep it locked away, I could wonder and want and jerk off once in awhile thinking about you and call it good.”

Steve stepped towards him and murmured “I had no idea I was thinking the same….”

Bucky cut him off, “Then you woke me up with that stupid line on the helicarrier. I couldn’t remember shit, but that line; the feeling that I had something with you just kept nagging at my brain but I was too afraid of the feelings, too afraid to go look for you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, he turned to face Steve, “Then you showed up in Bucharest and you chased me, you dragged that damn chopper out of the sky to keep me there. I started to think, well maybe Rogers might feel the way I do maybe he would --- want me.”

Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s expression or his eyes, the porch lights dim, the house lights off but the hope in his voice washed over him, “Buck, I had no idea. I feel the same….”

Bucky shook his head and spun away, a wild gesture slapping himself on the head, “What an idiot I am. Of course, you wouldn’t want me I’m crazy.”

Steve stepped towards him, “No that isn't it at all you`re wrong.”

“No? Really? I see how you look at me when it happens when I get crazy.” He turned back to confront him. “Let's finish this." A step closer, voice graveled and rising, "I see dead people, Steve. I still see them. They don’t talk to me much anymore, that would be the meds. But they’re still there, like some fucking entourage.”

Steve ran his hands through his hair “Stop it, this isn`t healthy.”

Bucky laughed, “Not healthy? You finally get my point. ” He closed the metal fist and tapped it to his temple, “I hear voices. Actually one voice he, it, talks to me all the time, even when you’re talking he’s always there like some sick running commentary on my life. On a bad day, he tells me what a pathetic mess I am; on a good day, I trust him.”

“Please stop this Bucky, this is crazy……” the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Bucky let out a sarcastic laugh then sighed “I especially enjoy when Stark’s mother comes around, she brings the seizures. She’s scary as shit.”

Bucky pushed into Steve's chest; his hair brushed Steve’s cheek as he whispered. “I know what happened back there. You felt it, you felt what I did when we kissed. You wanted it, just like I did and now you’re acting like it was a big mistake. You tell yourself you’re the good Steve Rogers, loyal friend, noble savior; but you are full of shit. Keep lying to yourself. I know the truth. I know you wanted that tonight. I know at least for a few minutes you wanted me.”

Steve slumped down against the hood of the truck as he watched Bucky disappear into the house. He thought about waking Natasha, "Scratch that,” he glanced up at Nat`s open window. He waited for her to show up.

Bucky marched straight to his bedroom; the sound of the bureau being jammed against the door evidence enough of how pissed he was.

Steve appreciated Nat`s discretion when he gave up waiting for her head to peek out the window.

He texted his therapist instead. “I screwed up.”  
“How bad?”  
“Let it go too far.”  
“First base vs home run?”  
“First base.”  
“Ok, so game’s not over yet. We’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t give up.”

Even his therapist used code to talk about Bucky.

  
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The aftermath of the argument gripped the entire house before the much-anticipated mission debrief and planning with Fury and Sharon.

”What the hell happened to you two?” Sam corralled Steve during a more than his usual intense workout.

“Nothing to discuss.” Steve reticent.

“Really? He’s usually attached to your hip; you’ve been locked in the tactical room for two hours, now you're on the third punching bag and he’s barricaded in his bedroom….nothing to discuss?”

“Nothing to discuss.”

Sam countered, “Look, I’m not trying to pry. I might actually give a shit about you, even Barnes.”

“I’m sorry, I know. Thanks it just needs time.” Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Natasha stood, arms crossed leaning against the staircase. “You did it, didn’t you? You slept with him?”

“Slept with him? I do that on occasion," A deflection.

She added, “You’re going to make me say ‘fucked him’?”

A hitch in his right hook to the bag, “No. We didn’t do that.” 

“So why is he sulking and the gym equipment is suffered from your frustration?”

 

Sam retreated up the stairs after the shared knowing look with Natasha. They had overheard the exchange the night before.

Steve adjusted the wraps on his hands and waited for Sam to close the door before, “He kissed me again. I couldn’t stop. I kissed him back. It was…Look I stopped it, he’s pissed, we’ll talk when he’s ready.” A guarded thought about the two hours spent hashing it out with his therapist, the one no one knew about.

“Steve…” Natasha started.

“Nat you’re my friend, I appreciate your concern and support. I’ve talked this out with someone. Please let it go.” A less-than-enthusiastic straight arm to the bag. 

Natasha shrugged as she left him to his catharsis, adding as she went up the stairs, "Keep something in mind, Steve. We are about to go out into the field with both of you. We need to trust one another with our lives. You don’t have to use me as a therapist but there needs to be some truth and trust here. We need to be a team; I hope you two can get your shit together soon.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

  
“We're a go for tomorrow.” Sharon was standing in the empty loft that served as their makeshift headquarters.

“The Rogers angle is a bust.” She scratched at the glass of the window.

“That old woman had her own agenda, she went soft on him. This is my operation now.”

She frowned and added “I will make good on my promises. Give me time. He'll come in and I will deliver as promised.”

She laughed “Impressive? Yes. Very. The insanity in his eyes is an added bonus you'll be very pleased.”

 

 

 


	17. It's Your Choice

Bucky shoved the bureau against the door. It was a juvenile gesture.

The barricade was more for the noise; a signal to the rest of the house that Bucky was displeased; with them; with Steve; with life. Mostly it was anger at himself.

“Real mature Barnes.” He growled. “Steve could tear the door off its hinges without marring his perfectly manly cut fucking fingernails.”

He toed at his sneakers and tossed them to thump loudly against the wall facing Sam’s room.

 _"You fucked it up again, asshole_."

Bucky groaned as the Voice geared up for another long night. He reached for the closet door hinge; the top one; tapped it once; the ritual pacing could begin.

_"You just had to stick your god damned tongue in it. Didn’t you."  
_

“Listen, pal, you thought it was a good idea earlier.”  Heel to the corner; nine steps; careful stride.

_"Lick my fingers, Steve, it’ll be fun, Steve, watch me eat this, Steve."  
_

“Shut up.” The metal plates shifted; the tension crawled across his chest.

_"I’ll lick your ear, Steve; I’ll watch you shudder; you’ll watch me act like a fucking idiot."_

“Get out of my head you’re not real.” Touch the dismantled surveillance camera.

_"You’re a goddamned fool thinking he’d feel anything for you except pity."_

Six steps, no three then shove the bed away from the wall; now three steps; tap the lock on the window.

 _"He’s a fucking hero; he’s saved thousands of lives; he’s a legend. He wasn’t even awake; he was frozen and still managed to save millions_."

“Ya, I get it…a fucking hero.” Nine steps; touch the bureau corner; turn.

_"What’s your big accomplishment? What have you done? Pathetic loser, you killed people that’s your legacy. A killer; a murderer."_

He tripped over a sneaker. “Shit, shit.” Panic grabbed his breath. “I missed a step. No. Ok, ok. Go back, do over; I need a do-over.” He spun around and rushed back to the bureau corner touch it twice; heel to the corner; steps…one, two, three.

_"You didn’t just kill your targets; nope not you. Kill one, kill them all. Women. Children. You even killed their fucking dogs. Was that necessary, Soldier? Was Hydra out to kill the dogs too? Who’s to blame for that? You are, asshole. Even the handler laughed at you."_

“You don’t know anything about that.” He stopped mid-stride and braced himself against the wall. A rush of memories sent shivers of sweat down his back. “Count the steps, don’t lose count.”

 _"What the hell were you thinking on that train? Picked up the shield; his shield. Not yours, not for you to hold or touch or want. Your stupidity got you killed; he knows it; you fell; he could’ve reached you but he didn’t. He let you go; good riddance. You fell and he fucking walked away. Left you for dead. He never even looked for you asshole. Why would he? He had Peggy; smarter, better, he didn’t have to pick up the pieces of her, not like you_."

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Bucky lurched forward, pulling at his hair.

_"Everybody loves Steve Rogers. Captain America. Perfect. Star-spangled-man-with-a-plan. What’s your plan, Soldier? Kill people? Wreck lives? Push the bureau in front of the door? Mope under the table? Lick your fingers? Kill yourself?"_

Touch the window lock; again. “I missed it? Go back. NO. Can’t go back. Stop. Count the steps again. Three more. Ok. Start over.”

_"You'll never be good enough for him. What’s he going to do; live here with you for the next ninety years? Boorrring. Go on the run with you? Right. You’re a fucking assassin wanted in 117 countries sooner or later they catch you. Lock you up. It’ll be the Raft for you, a cot and three meals a day if you're lucky."_

_"Matter of fact, Soldier. It’ll be him who gives you up. He’ll get tired of this bullshit and turn you in. Tuck you into the Raft and wave goodbye. Get on with his life without your sorry fucking ass._ "

Bucky crumpled down the wall; “No. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t do that. Not Steve. You don’t know him, he wouldn’t….I know…I think…nope." He tugged his knees close and held on.

_"You’re broken beyond repair. There’s no way out of this mess. No options. You’re delusional, pal if you think this is home for you. The Soldier has no place here. Wilson thinks you’re an idiot. Romanova feels nothing but disdain for you. You remember her, you won’t admit it though. You see how she looked, those sad eyes full of pity."_

Bucky tapped the back of his head against the wall. “Get out of my head…get out of my head.”

_"Give it up. Just let it go. You know exactly where to go. We’re out there, your real family’s out there waiting for you to come home."_

“I hate you.” 

_"You won’t be lonely with us; we can take care of you. We can give you the touch you crave; we understand you; these people don’t care about you; they feel sorry for you. You’re a joke to them."_

“No. Maybe, I know." He slammed his head back again; the warm wetness was comforting.

_"Go ahead, child. Open the window; come to us. Call us, we’ll find you. We’ll take you home."_

Bucky groaned out a breath and crawled to the window. "I’m sorry, Steve, I know I promised.” He pushed it open. “I know I said I’d tell you first but I can’t, I can’t stay here. I can’t.” He dragged himself onto the roof.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“I have to check on him, Sam.” Natasha had the bedroom door ajar.

“Steve’s right across the hall. He’s gotta hear him.”

“I get it but you heard the fight, a 9 on a scale of 1 to 10….10 being they come to blows… I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” She peeked into the hallway.

“Well technically, he slapped his hand, making it a 10.” Sam was trying to be helpful. “Nat, he barely speaks to you even when he’s drugged. You know he’s the definition of anti-social, anything we say will only piss him off more.” He didn’t want to get out of bed. The fight was very inconveniently timed and he was feeling resentful.

“OK, I heard it again. He’s doing more than just talking to himself.” It had been hours since he had slammed the door and rearranged the furniture. Natasha had spied Steve cross to Bucky’s door at least six times, only to abort the knock and retreat to his room. “I’m going down there.” Natasha threw on her clothes; shoved her feet into some slippers and headed for Bucky’s door.

“Wait. Just wait for me.” Sam called as he dragged on his sleep pants and ran after her.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

_"That’s it, child. Come home to me. I’ll take care of you. You don’t’ belong to those people."  
_

Bucky crouched on the roof. His head was pounding; he couldn’t fight the Voice any longer. He knew how to get home; if he made the call they’d find him within hours and it would all be over. All the lost confusion; the guilt and shame could go away. He slipped down to the roof’s edge.

“Barnes? What the hell are you doing?” A woman’s voice rasped out from the ground below him.

He froze.

“I see you up there. I know what the hell you’re thinking and you are wrong, dead wrong.” Natasha whisper shouted as she jumped on the picnic table and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“God damn it, Barnes you are such a pain in the ass.” Sam groaned at the scene that threatened to steal not only his tryst but the entire night’s sleep. He headed for the garage.

“Listen to me. If you do this, if you run, you’re breaking your word and I know that means something to you.” Natasha stalled.

Sam reappeared with a ladder.

Bucky backed up. “You don’t know anything about me.” He growled.

Natasha slowly climbed the rungs. “You’ll break his heart if you do this.” She swung over the edge and crawled towards him.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Nope, you’re going to have to jump or push me off, I’m not stopping.”

His back bumped against the window sill.

“Nat, come on, be careful.” Sam fretted.

“What the fuck are you doing get away from me. I’ll hurt you.”

She could barely see his outline as he crouched by the window; the yard security light didn’t help so she ran her hand across the roof and stopped when she felt his jeans.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

She pulled back.

“Barnes, you never let him finish a sentence tonight. We heard the fight. Remember too fucking bad? You slammed the door, we took that as an invitation so we listened.”

“Fuck you.”

“Whatever happened tonight doesn’t matter. He was trying to tell you how he feels but you wouldn’t let him.”

“Right, it’s all my fault exactly. Perfect Steve Rogers.”

“Hard to be perfect when you’re an idiot. He’s an idiot, we all know it. So does he.” She settled her back against the wall to sit next to him.

“Right, he’s an idiot.”

“So are you. We all know it except Steve, he thinks you’re perfect.”

“Right, I’m an idiot except, what?”

“You can do no wrong in his book. He says it every day, sometimes in words, but always in how he looks at you, trusts you, believes in you; worries about you; how all of this; the house, the security, the work, everything is about you. Before that day in D. C.; the day you reappeared for him; he was lost. He was going through the motions of living in this century; that moment when he said 'Bucky’ everything changed. He lives only for you. Every breath he takes is a breath for you.”

Bucky mumbled “Liar.”

“I get it. It's hard to trust. But right now I’m talking to you as Natalia Romanova; your teammate, your housemate, and, believe it or not, your friend.”

Bucky didn’t have a comeback.

Sam laid down on the picnic table. “Damn you, Barnes.”

Natasha had her tenuous moment with him, she wasn’t going to waste it. “Pain is a tool, we know this. It can make you stronger or it can make you vulnerable. You don't admit it, you try to hide it, but it's clear, you're in pain."

“You don’t know..."

“I don’t know anything about you, I know.  So shut up and listen for once. Listen to the actual people in your life, not those fucking voices.”

Bucky shifted to rap his metal elbow into the wall.

“Pain makes you vulnerable, you are in pain, own up to it. Sex doesn’t fix this kind of pain, it’s a band-aid on a gaping wound. Steve doesn’t want that and neither do you.”

“Who are you now, my psychotherapist?”

“Hardly, but getting one, not a bad idea.” 

He was still listening; still sitting near her, nearly touching. Natasha kept going; “We’ve known about the voices for a while now, hard to miss when you carry on more of a conversation with your own head in an hour than you say to us in a week.”

Bucky offered an obligatory “Fuck you.”

“Maybe consider talking to us more, well, beyond ‘Fuck you.’ We might engage.” She noticed Sam sprawled out on the picnic table. “Here’s the deal, Sam and I are going to bed. We’ve had all the Barnes and Rogers show we can handle. You can run, we can’t stop you. If you run he’ll chase you, as always, but as I recall, it worked out so well the last time. Some say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.”

His knee brushed against hers lightly in a lingering touch.

“If you stay, there might be a whole new world of possibilities. Some say the best part of fighting is making up but you’ll have to stay to see about that.” 

She slid down the roof towards the ladder, ”Sleep tight. I hope we see you in the morning.”

Over the edge. “No more banging.”

She whispered loudly as she got to the ground, “And no more talking to the voices out loud, use your indoor voice.”

Sam followed her back inside.

 _"What the hell was that. Damn Widow_."

“I have no idea." He fell asleep sprawled face first on the roof while contemplating all things Romanova.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Sharon was impatiently clicking and unclicking a pen as she paced by the freight elevator. Her boot heels were echoing in the nearly empty loft space. A bank of monitors encircled a young woman. Fury stood beside her; bathed in the eerie glow of the screens. Overhead lights dropped pools of harsh whiteness onto a long folding table set up near the computer station. A sudden clang signaled the arrival of guests; the cranky mechanics of the elevator lurched into motion.

“Finally.” Sharon moaned. Fury looked up expectantly.

The doors opened and Steve shoved the grate aside.

”What? This is bullshit.” She glared at the elevator’s occupants: Steve, Natasha, and Sam.

No Barnes.

Fury crossed to meet them “We’re glad you could make it.” He leveled a pointed glance at Sharon.

“So Sharon, what’s bullshit?” Steve asked in a clipped tone.

“You know what’s bullshit, he’s not here. You said he’d be here.”

“No. I said I’d ask the team if they would be here. Three of us are here. One is not. He gets to choose. We all do.”

“This is a big game to him. He’s playing games here with our time and money.”

“Is that what this is about, time and money?” They were toe-to-toe now.

Fury moved to de-escalate them “This is not about time and money. It is about actionable intelligence to take down Hydra. We are ready to listen and work with you, three of you or four or two or one. Let’s get focused people.” Fury made a gesture to invite them to settle at the table.

Steve glanced around the room. A wall of brick to his left; behind them the elevator, a metal door to the stairs; four windows to the right; four windows straight ahead, one with a fire escape. The only egress to the roof, the stairway. ”He’ll use the fire escape.” Steve had decided to spend the ride over predicting Bucky’s next move. He’d already spent the night and most of the day replaying their fight. "It's time to move on to more positive musings” as his therapist had advised. Steve sat at the head of the table; best view of the room; and furthest seat from Sharon.

”Well, this is cozy.” Sam quipped as he took a seat near the center.

Natasha made her own internal assessment that centered around Sharon and sat next to Steve.

The screens flashed barely readable lists of data; Sharon started talking; the debriefing lurched forward.

Steve's attention quickly slipped back to the tense exchange on the porch before leaving; “This is our chance to start working together. You don’t have to talk to them, just listen, just stand there, I don’t care.”

“I’m not going to talk about Mot….about that stupid woman.”

Steve knew he meant the old Widow, not the other stupid woman, Sharon. “Come on Buck, we’ll take the bike.”

“No Steve, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Bucky snarled.

“Ok, then let’s take the truck.”

“NO."

“Then go with Sam and Nat…"

” NO fucking way, no back seat shit.”

“Buck come on, grow up, just fucking grow up.”

Steve roared off watching Bucky in the rearview mirror.

 

Sam and Natasha’s focus was about as good as Steve’s. No one had slept. Sam pondered how he could drug Barnes at night so they could all get some rest.

Natasha doodled a picture of knives and birds.

Sam rocked back and forth on two chair legs, nearly falling backward at least twice, much to Sharon’s disdain.

The debriefing droned on until Fury redirected again, “Ok, I think we’ve beat this to a pulp, let’s talk about what we’ve got for actionable items.”

Sharon rose and stood at the end of the bank of screens.

Natasha felt a chill go down her spine, a whisper of the Red Room instructors.

Sharon opened with “Gieta Sokolov the Black Widow Hydra operative, has provided us with some credible action items on operations in China, Brazil, and Spain. All locations are being investigated."

Natasha smirked to herself “That Widow played you pretty well she gave you a whole lot of nothing to keep you busy.” She thought about the ‘Barnes Thesis’ as they started calling it; his Hydra data on stickie notes. His data was detailed, workable, real and dangerous. They had done their homework; if they went forward with it everyone would be at risk, more than ever. Especially Barnes. Natasha wondered about Sharon as she stared intently at her; trying to feign attention. “So why no access to the Widow? Why so intent on being in the same room as Barnes?” Sharon had thwarted Natasha at every turn when she tried to get one-on-one time with Sokolov. And the obsession with Barnes was …getting more disturbing by the day.

Sam pushed the folding chair back to balance on two legs again. “Are you getting to a point here? I`m not hearing anything that we can act on unless you need us to sort through paperwork or go undercover as garbage men…persons…no offense to trash collectors, I mean where would we be without them? In a pile of ….”

“Sam!” Steve seemed to reenter the world. He leaned forward and tapped on the table; covering the faint scrap of the fire escape window opening. “Sokolov is a pro, everything you’ve brought up tonight is barely workable.”

Natasha sighed and stretched, drawing in Sharon’s gaze to distract from the shadowy figure stalking her.

Sam leaned back one more time and had to catch himself with his toes on the bottom of the table to keep from falling. The distraction was priceless.

Sharon glared at him. “This is what we have currently of course if your friend, Sergeant Barnes had bothered to show up and share what he knows then…..”

Her tirade was interrupted when the woman at the computer screamed “SHIT!”

Sharon wheeled around to collide hard with the chest of one James Buchanan Barnes.

She stumbled backward. He stared down at her. A cold Winter Soldier expression on his face. Actually, it was more than cold, it was angry. It wasn't a hard look to accomplish; he wanted to intimidate her. Her hand reflexively went for the gun on her hip.

Everyone reacted at once; “Whoa…hey…” “Stand down Sharon….” “I can’t believe I have to keep stunning you…”

Fury stepped between her and Barnes. “Settle down, Sharon you need to take a seat.”

He turned. “Sergeant Barnes, glad you could make it. Nice entrance.” Steve thought he saw Fury smirk.

Bucky kept eyes on Sharon; his stare backed her into a chair at the far end of the table.

His gaze switched to Fury standing directly in front of him. Bucky`s head twitched visibly.

Steve recognized the change in his eyes, “Damn. That Voice just talked to him.” He encouraged silently, “Ok, pal, don't lose it." 

Bucky studied Fury closely then quietly confessed “I killed you. I thought you were a ghost.”

“Nope, very much alive.” Fury confided. “You did do some serious damage.” Fury let out a short laugh. “Damn near succeeded, but I`m a tough old man, hard to kill.” He poked a finger into Bucky`s chest for emphasis.

_"Shit he touched us, he`s not dead."_

Bucky looked down at Fury’s finger. “Good. Glad I failed. One less to haunt…” his words faded.

Steve nodded to Sam and Natasha as they gathered around Bucky who had moved to a seemingly random spot away from the harsh lights and computer screens.

“Glad you made it,” Steve whispered.

Bucky shrugged. He wanted Steve to think it didn’t matter to him. He was driving by and just happened to notice the bike and thought he’d drop in. But it did matter. He hated that anyone would use the word ‘vulnerable’ about him; he was the Winter Soldier, not a persona viewed as vulnerable. “So no more mooching rides; no more hiding the intel; no more puking.” It was easy to fulfill the first one; the second one was in his pocket and well the third one didn’t work out so well as he anxiety puked just before leaving and cleaned it up with the good towels since he was still kinda pissed at Steve.

Sam caught him up “They want the information, we have your thesis, what do you want to do? Your call.”

Bucky dug into his pocket and tugged out the crumpled papers he pulled from the shoe box in his closet. He had knelt on the floor of the bedroom right after Steve left and tore through the written memories. “Who goes first?” He had worried; there was no shortage of targets spanning his memory.

_"FINALLY, a mission. So many to choose from Soldier. That one; they starved you for months. Wait, that one used you in their fight ring. No, forget those, this one, go after this one, they raped you…"_

“Enough! This isn't about me. Remember? We don't give a shit about what happened to me, water under the bridge. Our mission is bigger than revenge.”

Bucky’s hand shook slightly as he held the notes out to the three of them; Natasha took the papers and closed his fingers carefully. “We’ve got this, Barnes.” She whispered as she and Sam took his intel notes and brought it to the table for Fury and Sharon.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“This is credible intel.” Fury remarked.

“It’s old intel.” Sharon countered.

“It is being corroborated by what we already know times three, making it credible.” Fury countered.

Steve stood with Bucky in a darkened corner of the loft. Steve knew the drill; pick the best vantage point for threat assessment; surveillance; exits. They were on the same page.

“I know this took a lot for you to be here, Buck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky shrugged. But Steve could see the beads of sweat on his forehead; the paranoid way he scanned the room; the faint tremor that hadn’t been around much lately.

Natasha relayed the details between Bucky and Sharon. He pointed, nodded or grimaced. All of which were easily read by his housemates.

Sam recorded the proceedings on the tablet.

“This is not good enough. He needs to participate, he needs to sit down and talk to us about what he knows not use you as some damn go-between.” Sharon was standing too close to Natasha, who was not backing down.

“Barnes, are you participating here?” Natasha called back.

Bucky nodded.

“Am I getting your point across?”

He gave her a metal thumbs up.

“Do you feel you need to sit down?”

He gave her a metal thumbs down.

“You’re all coddling him. This is ridiculous.” Sharon huffed.

Bucky gave her the metal middle finger.

“A man of few words." Sam laughed, “It’s so meaningful being metal." 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Well, this was a fruitful meeting everyone. Thank you.” Fury stood to signal the wrap-up.

Steve, Sam, and Natasha headed for the elevator.

Bucky looked at the fire escape; the stairs; then back at the elevator.

“Sergeant Barnes can I have a word.” Fury approached him.

Steve waited. He watched Fury talk at Bucky; who stared at his feet; then shook his head slowly; he saw his jaw tighten; heard the arm whirr and plates shift.

“They ok over there?” Sam asked.

Natasha added, "He looks pissed.”

Sam wondered “Doesn’t he always look pissed?”

Steve decided to intervene “Everything ok here?”

Bucky set his jaw and nodded as he pushed past both of them.

“Anything I should know about Fury?”

“No. Just some routine details, I’m sure he’ll fill you in. We’ll be in touch then.” Fury walked away.

Sharon called as the elevator clunked into place “We need to fit him for weapons and a uniform.”

Natasha shook her head and smiled. “No worries, we’re all set. We took care of that.”

The team took the elevator; Bucky took the stairs.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky left the truck in a darkened empty parking lot over a block away from the warehouse.

_"Good sight lines, Soldier, no surveillance, plenty of escape routes, always thinking."_

He heard Steve call him as he left the warehouse grounds; he kept walking.

”Bucky wait up. Wait.” Steve ran to catch up.

“Hey, come on, are we really going to do this.” Steve stepped ahead of him to slow his pace. “Come on talk to me we need to get past this.”

Bucky swerved around him. 

“Buck, I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth a long time ago.”

“I already know the truth, I told you that last night, you’re perfect, I’m a screw-up. End of the line, pal.”

“Bucky!” Steve grabbed his arm.

A metal fist stopped millimeters from his face.

“Whoa, really? Is that how it is?” Steve let go of his arm and threw his hands in the air.

Bucky growled, “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me. Ever again.”

Steve shook his head and let him walk away. Until he thought about the odds that he and Bucky would ever find one another again after everything that had happened. He replayed Bucky’s fall from the train; his own icy tomb for seventy years; he remembered the shock of seeing him again in D. C. that look on Bucky’s face on the helicarrier; even Bucky admitted that gave him hope.

“Nope. Not giving up now.” He caught him at the truck, grabbed his arm again and spun him around. “This has to end…”

Bucky shoved him and reached for the truck door.

Steve moved to block him. “No. No more running away.”

Bucky growled with actual menace, “Get the fuck out of the way, Steve.”

“You’ve sulked long enough; you need to hear me out.”

Bucky reached for the door again.

Steve put his hands on his chest, “You’re not leaving until I have my say," he found himself shoved aside. The force of his scrambled tackle from behind drove Bucky into the door, His arms wrapped around him, it took all of his strength and weight to pin him tightly in place, trapped against the door.  

The kick of the metal elbow skidded off his chest.

Steve ducked to press his forehead to Bucky's flesh shoulder to avoid his head when he threw it back and struggled against his hold.

Bucky began a slide down, wriggling to drop below his arms. Steve rasped close to his ear, "Nope, not going anywhere." His knee found its way between Bucky's legs, he pushed hard and deep, raking his skin along the truck, his thigh found the warmth of his balls. He buried his face into his neck and whispered again, "Not until you hear me out," he let his lips brush against his ear.

The faint moan that overtook Bucky's low growl, sent a rush of heat to Steve's thoughts and his body, he fought to stay focused on what he wanted to say. “Stop, just stop struggling and listen.” He shook him as he buried his face in his hair, surprised at his own need,  “I…I want to be with you." 

The push of Bucky's hips back into his own sent a jolt of near pain through his groin, he drove his knee deeper, holding him in place. 

“Listen to me, I feel the way you do, your confession last night, you didn’t give me a chance to tell you, I should’ve told you sooner. I want you. No one else."

The rush of heat that washed over Bucky brought a confusion of fear and want, desire and panic, he fought to break free of the hold he dreamt about every night. He blurted, “Fuck you, you had your chance. You said it, I’m too crazy for you." Panting, ragged breath took over as the heat threatened his logic and brought a fullness to his cock that hadn't happened in his recent memory.

Steve held fast through the bruising struggle, “No, not what I said. What I said was, should have said, I want you to make the choice. I want you to decide what happens next. You’ve had no choice for so long, no freedom for so long, I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

Bucky groaned a dry laugh, “Really? Then what’s this all about? You’re fucking holding me in a deadlock with your fucking knee in my groin and your cock, your hard cock pressed up into my ass. So I gotta choice here?” His hips pushed back again, an attempt to drive Steve away but he let the contact stay.

The lingering touch wasn't lost on Steve, he laughed. “You might have a point, but here’s a counterpoint." He freed a hand to weave his fingers into Bucky's hair and whispered, "You could have gotten away from this. I’m not working hard to keep you here." The tug on his hair pulled the faintest of gasps, "Remember, we’ve fought for real, I know you can match me. I’m not even sweating.” His lips brushed against his neck as he spoke. 

The groaned complaint, “Get your fucking cock off me," didn't match the slowed struggle and the way his head followed the pull on his hair. He leaned back into the embrace.

Steve pulled his hair aside to tease his tongue along the length of his neck, stopping to rasp, “No. I want it there. So do you.”

Bucky's moan wouldn't stay hidden as he squirmed to break free but every push and move pressed his ass against the growing heat that was Steve's cock. He muttered, “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.” 

“You could get out of this, Buck, I don't believe you." Steve had to have the taste of his skin in his mouth, he dragged his tongue along his ear, bit at the soft flesh, “You want this, just like I do.” 

“I hate you," Bucky mumbled as he twisted to escape. 

“I don’t believe you.” Steve tugged at his hair, freed his other hand to cup his face and pull his mouth close to his own. 

Bucky's half-hearted mumble, “I don’t want this, let me go…I," was cut off by Steve's open-mouthed kiss.

Steve pushed his hands into his hair, letting the soft sensation run across his skin, he licked into his mouth, feeding his need to taste him. He locked his fingers behind his head, fighting Bucky's attempts to pull away, his logic drifted away as Bucky gave into the push of his tongue and relaxed against the press of his hips. Steve breathed a moan when Bucky licked deep into his mouth and kissed him back. 

The fight hold weakened as the kiss deepened. Bucky rolled to face Steve, his cock filling, he gave in to the need to press their hips close, he drove his hands down Steve's ass and pulled him hard against himself. Lifting him, he widened his stance to tuck him in tight between his legs. He ached for the feel of flesh on flesh, his hand dug under his jacket, fingers raking along bare skin, he groaned at finally feeling Steve's warmth after wanting this since forever.

Steve pulled back from the consuming kiss to rest his forehead on Bucky's, his gaze fell to his jeans, he wanted this. His hand fell to the waistband, he tugged with care, not yet ready to open the button, he searched for Bucky’s permission with a finger raked along his bare skin. The pull of his skin under his fingertips drove him to look for more, he ran his hand across his abdomen, pushed both hands up under his shirt and skimmed a finger over a nipple. The gasp of breath and roll of his head against Steve's cheek told him what he needed to know. 

Steve leaned back enough to see Bucky's gray eyes, searching the hungry look, wanting that look all for himself, aching for the next kiss to come from him. "Your choice, Buck, what now?" 

It only took a pounding heartbeat. Bucky knew what he wanted, he dove towards Steve's mouth and covered it with his own. The push of his tongue forced Steve back, an anxious whine and the pull of his metal hand behind his head dragged him back in, not allowing him to escape. An arm snaked around his waist, kept their hips tightly locked together. 

Steve's hands fell to Bucky's jeans, the button gave easily to his fumbled opening, the zipper slipped down with barely an effort. He kept their mouths in a tight and consuming kiss, his tongue licked along his lips, he bit and tugged at his mouth until he pulled a soft whine that pushed his cock to a full erection. He wanted this touch for so long it hurt to deny it now, his hand slipped deep into the soft warmth to caress his abdomen, fingernails raking into his skin, with his hands connecting to his flesh, the heat ran through his body to convince him that this was always what he wanted. To touch Bucky like this. Steve wanted more, more heat, more of the fire, more of his flesh under his own, he pushed deeper, to run fingertips through the coarse hair, finally to brush lightly against the tip of his cock, the wetness sending a moan through him. 

Bucky pulled in a quick breath, a faint shudder, "Wait, wait…” Bucky tried to push him away.

"Shhh, it's ok." Steve tried to hold onto the embrace and the kiss.

“Stop it, Steve. Please I can’t, I can’t do this.” He whispered, “Let me go.”

Steve stepped back. “Buck, I’m sorry. I thought you were ok." He ran a hand through his hair. 

“I know, I know, I did too…” Bucky fumbled with his pants and turned away from Steve.

“Did I do something wrong? Well, besides put you in a full body hold and force you to kiss me, other than that.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. A strong rush of regret rolled in, regret he ever put his hands on him in the first place. He quietly willed his cock into submission. 

Bucky huffed out a nervous laugh. "No, I, think I had something happen.”

“A flashback?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky looked uncertain.

“A memory of something bad that gets triggered by a current event.” Steve provided the definition as he understood it.

Bucky pointed at him as he squatted down against the truck “That would be it.”

Steve sat next to him, their thighs touching, he could feel the faint tremor. “I never meant for that, you know I don’t want to ever remind you of what they did to you.”

“It’s ok, I’m ok.” Bucky's voice was shaky.

“Maybe Romanova is right.” Bucky offered quietly.

“You’re talking to Natasha?” Steve was always the last to know.

“She does the talking. I just growl and listen. But don’t tell her I listen.”

“That’s all any of us do with Natasha," he smiled.

“I’m glad I stayed. I’m still pissed at you even if I kissed you back.”

“Stayed? I don’t want to know do I?”

Bucky shook his head.

Steve waited then “What now?”

Bucky sighed “We try again? Later though, I need to think."

Steve reached to mess up his hair.  “Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Very funny. Need a ride to the bike? Not safe out here late at night, in the dark, I can protect you.”

Steve stood up. “Who’s driving?”

“I am.” 

“You don’t have a license.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Right, in what state?”

“New Jersey, California, Michigan….”

 

Bucky followed Steve on his bike. 

 _"Nicely done, Soldier. You got a little action without puking. He never found out about the problem_."

“Yeah, yeah I wasn’t gonna puke."

_"But the problem. It’s still a problem."_

“Right no kidding. I can’t get it up. It’s a side effect, low libido, I know.”

 _"And the other problem_."

Bucky sighed. “He called it a flashback. I’d call it a nightmare.” He shook his head and rolled the window down to try and shake off the memory.

_"You handled it well, Soldier, now and then. If they had seen what it did to you on the inside they’d have done it over and over. You’ve learned well how to shut down."_

“Shut up. Bad enough I saw that ghost just now, I don’t need you harping on me.”

 _"It was remarkable how that handler resembled your precious Captain_."

“Yup…spittin’ image.”


	18. The Handler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> Hello Dear Readers! Thank you so much for following. ♥

**Chapter 18**

 

“Let it go, Barnes, just let it go,” Bucky muttered as he worked to shake off the old memories. He tried to focus on the drive home. It was long after the debriefing; he could see the brake light on the bike jittering along ahead of him. His mind wandered to the comfort of knowing it was Steve; that he was following Steve, not a target, not an operative; that he was going home with Steve.

“Damn I’m tired.” He groaned as he stretched his back and tilted his head to let the cool night air wash over him. But the dull hum of truck tires along the pavement; the distant roar of the bike pulled him to wander into the landscape of his memories.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

A strapping man with short blonde hair and striking blue eyes entered the room where Bucky was curled in the corner. It was early in the process of his creation; Hydra’s methods were crude; Bucky was stubborn, defiant. There was something familiar about the man; Bucky didn’t spend much energy on why.

They had tried drugs, torture, deprivation; it all worked to beat him down but not break him. Until one day they dragged him into a room and showed him a newsreel. “Don’t be a fool, soldier…it’s over…the war is over…you belong to us now.” He stared impassively at the films, it didn’t matter about the war; all that mattered was Steve. Bucky’s battered mind held onto one image. Steve’s outstretched hand as he fell from the train. “He’ll look for me. He’ll find me.” Bucky held tight to that mantra through everything they did to him.

Until that day.

“Look, soldier here’s the proof, your precious Captain America is dead, he’s gone.” A nameless faceless man whispered close to his ear. “He’s not coming for you. He left you for dead and now he’s dead. You belong to us now.”

Bucky spent three days in that room with Steve’s death; the images playing over and over around him. He cried at first, for Steve, then for himself; then he embraced the inevitable; he’d die resisting them, he’d follow Steve into the cold, maybe even find him again after death, if anything his mom had said was true, “I’ll find you, Steve. I promise.”

Then the strapping young man showed up. He wasn’t like the others. He spoke in perfect English with a hint of New York in it; he moved with a grace that complimented his size and muscled body; it felt familiar.

He spoke with kindness “I’m sorry you lost him. He meant everything to you, I can see that.” He slid down the wall and sat quietly next to Bucky for what seemed like hours. There were no more films; no more beatings; no more torture. Only the handler with kind words and a soft smile; like Steve’s. He was unlike any of the others; he’d look Bucky right in the eye; something none of the others would allow. Bucky would try to resist but instead of a beating this handler would laugh; a full and contagious laugh, not unkind but encouraging; it was hard to resist.

Bucky started to trust him; he was so much like Steve. The way he moved, his words, the look of him; the way he’d pull him in to whisper secrets that weren’t really secrets, just a way to be close; to win him over. The whispers evolved into touch; a hand on his shoulder or chest; an arm around him, across his lower back, encouraging him, comforting him. His heart and body ached for Steve; that never seemed to lessen despite the grueling training and indoctrination. But their crude early attempts at wiping his memory pushed him over the edge. His life was gone; his family, the war….but the last memory to linger was Steve and the handler took advantage of that. Hydra counted on it.

None of these memories surfaced in DC or Bucharest or Siberia. The kiss on the roof didn’t make them surface; neither did the kiss at the burger joint. Not until tonight when Steve caressed the tender skin across his belly when he slowly ran his fingers down the front of his jeans and flirted with his cock. He longed for that moment for a lifetime only to have it consumed by the ghost of that long ago handler that led him into his life as the Winter Soldier.

 

“Come on, Barnes ancient history, forget about what they did to you, it’s pointless.” Bucky closed his eyes for a moment; he was so tired, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept for more than 30 minutes. “Compartmentalize, buddy that’s your specialty.” He opened his eyes in time to see the deer looming in his headlights; but not in time to stop.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“What the hell was I thinking; I grabbed him, I threw him against the truck; I held his head and forced him to kiss me. I’m a complete idiot.” Steve was perseverating as he navigated the back road home. There were no streetlights, a lake to the right; a half moon barely lit the road; it would have been a beautiful ride if not for the all-consuming guilt of once again violating Bucky’s trust at least that’s how he was feeling.

“Damn, then I tell him your choice you decide. I’ve got him in a damn headlock but it’s his choice. Rogers, you’re so utterly selfish.” He started to wonder if his self-talk was anything like Bucky’s voices. He wondered if he could ask him someday. Steve considered pulling over to talk to him, to apologize, grovel in a very big way, at how much of an idiot he had been when he noticed the truck headlights abruptly veer off to the left, then right and disappear towards the lake.

“What the hell….” He skidded to a halt and swung the bike around.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Fuck….” Bucky tumbled out of the truck and crawled through the bushes to get back up to the road. The deer was nowhere to be seen; he didn’t recall a thump; he vaguely recalled the windshield was intact; “Ok, ok, good, I didn’t hit it; didn’t kill it, good, no more killing. I can't kill anything anymore.”

The lack of a body was a relief but now his anxiety kicked into full throttle intensity; he staggered back towards the truck and fell to his hands and knees; gasping for air; his head and heart pounding.

“Bucky? What happened? You ok?” Steve skidded to a halt; obedient to Bucky’s hand signaling him to stop.

“I’m ok, ok…wait….just wait.” He drew in quick ragged breaths in between the words.

Steve hovered nearby; it took all of his self-control to not put his hands on him. He watched Bucky struggle to recover. He followed cautiously as he pulled himself up and stumbled towards the lake. “Buck, be careful let me help you.” He could barely see him but made out the faint shake of his head ‘no’. He heard the splash of water and darted forward; Bucky was kneeling at the edge, palming water on his face and neck.

“Hey, pal can I sit here? I swear I won’t touch you. I just want to be able to see you.” Steve couldn’t hide his worry.

Bucky nodded and pointed to the ground.

Steve settled at the designated spot and waited.

“A deer…I almost hit a deer.” He rasped out, but saying the words out loud opened the door for the sobbing.

Steve struggled against the urge to reach out to comfort him. He willed himself to sit still; to be satisfied with being present. He watched and waited.

“Sorry not sure where that came from.” Bucky wiped at his face and pulled up his defenses.

“I get the feeling that wasn’t about the deer so much,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky huffed out a small laugh. For a moment he thought about continuing the lie, but he knew there was nothing more to lose by telling the truth. He’d lost everything once; now he had him back; lying risked losing him for good. So he told the truth.

“Nope, it isn’t about the deer. Although I really didn’t want to hit that poor animal.” He shuddered a little as he pictured the frightened look it gave him. He hated that look.

Steve took a chance “It’s about me. What I did back there. I put my hands on you; I forced you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

Bucky shook his head ‘No.' then “Steve, it’s more complicated than that. I started it, remember? I kissed you on the roof; I fucking stuck my hand down your throat in public.” He cringed at the memory; fighting off the feelings of shame for forcing things with Steve only to feel rejected for it. “I flirt with you every chance I can.” He started laughing. “You’re so ridiculously gullible. You believed me when I said it made me feel safer to shower with the door open.” He laughed harder. “I did it to tease you. To make you look at me, to stare at me.” He drew in a sharp breath. “I knew I could count on you. I see how you look at me. What happened tonight, I wanted that to happen, I did.”

“But you pushed me away, you said you didn’t want that, I forced it. You made the list of rules, 'no touching unless I say ok or touch first' a simple rule and I keep breaking it every chance I get.”

“That rule is really for Romanova,” Bucky said dryly.

Steve frowned “Liar.”

“Ok so maybe more than her, Steve, a lot of shit happened to me. I don’t tell you about it; probably will never tell you. What’s the point really? It’s over and done…”

“But it isn’t.” Steve finished his sentence.

“Yeah, well, some things seem to be hanging on.” He admitted.

Bucky could hear the words in his head…what he was about to say; might confess; he pushed himself up to buy some time; think it through before plunging into the abyss of telling Steve about the handler. Confessing why he pushed him away; letting Steve into his frightening world of ghosts and nightmares.

He crossed to the truck to turn the headlights off; digging up his courage. Steve followed him but kept his distance; standing at the back of the truck to keep track of him. Bucky didn’t find it annoying; it made him feel safe; although he made the ‘no staring’ rule…it was actually a joke because Steve was so damn gullible.

Bucky dropped the tailgate and sat down; he patted the spot next to him “Don’t overreact. That’s my department. Sit down.” Steve complied.

“Ok…so here goes….Hydra did a lot of shit. I ain’t gonna tell you most of it…any of it…” He groaned “well maybe this one thing because it now appears to be relevant.”

He sighed. “So….there were handlers, people who were responsible for…me.…always a handler….some worse than others; some savvy, others really stupid.”

He pushed aside the temptation to overshare about those misadventures. His macabre view of the world wouldn’t appeal to Steve’s sense of honor.

He kept going: “Early on…it was harder…I was so full of righteous stubbornness. One of them….” He diverted slightly “You know…. they told me you died….they told me, showed me the newsreels…Captain America crashes into the ice and dies.”

Steve sucked in a breath.

“They laughed; put me in a room with the film playing.”

He paused to keep control of his voice.

“They made sure I watched it…’He won’t be coming for you, soldier, your Captain won’t be rescuing you this time’ I didn’t believe them at first but after awhile…” his voice trailed off.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” Steve gripped the edge of the tailgate and shook his head.

“I stopped fighting them; stopped eating….I thought, might as well die too, what else is there? Be their slave, no hope of you finding me…better to die.”

Bucky paused then decided to keep going; “Hydra didn’t want to lose their investment; such big plans for the Winter Soldier. They brought in a new handler.” He took a deep breath; “He spoke English…kinda New York like, had a big laugh; he was tall, blondish hair, muscular…” his voice trailed off as he looked pointedly at Steve.

“No.” Steve murmured. “No…Buck…please tell me that didn’t really happen….”

“Yeah, well, yeah…that seemed to do the trick…I dunno, I was confused, they’d tried to wipe my memories, I’d lost so much by then; not you, not yet… who the fuck knows…I knew it wasn’t you at first….but then, I wasn’t so sure….got lost….and well the rest is history I guess.”

Steve hoped he misunderstood; that he was wrong; he had to ask for more. "What did he do to you?”

“Well, Steve, ah…he…use your imagination, ok…you know how I feel about you, what the fuck do you think happened.” Bucky pushed off the tailgate and paced away.

“He forced you…he raped you.” Steve stumbled over the word.

“Hard to call it rape when I agreed,” Bucky mumbled.

”No…you didn’t agree to that.” Steve spit out and followed him. “They tricked you. They took advantage of your grief. Bucky they tortured you….wiped away everything you knew and played with your head. You never agreed to any of it. You never agreed to what he did to you.”

“Yeah….you can tell yourself that.”

“You thought it was me.” Steve couldn’t hold a check on his emotions, but he was fine with holding a check on his hands. He stood as close to Bucky as he dared; without reaching out.

“I’ll never touch you again. I’m so sorry….” Steve stammered.

“Well, that defeats the whole purpose of my confession.” Bucky drawled. “I told you don’t overreact that’s my job. I don’t have much work lately so let me have that, your job is to be the overachiever; the logical one; I won’t say perfect since that’s a big fat myth.”

“How can you joke after telling me this?” Steve was grateful it was dark so Bucky didn’t see the tears stinging his eyes.

“It’s called compartmentalizing Steve, It’s one of my greatest skills besides being a sniper.”

Bucky moved to face him.

“Compart….I hurt you, I threw you against the truck and…I’m no better than that piece of shit.”

“Shut up! Just stop it! You will never be like them. You will never, could never hurt me. If anyone should be wailing with regret it’s me. I nearly killed you on that helicarrier and you let me. So don’t tell me you hurt me, you couldn’t hurt me even when I was trying to kill you for real.”

Steve struggled with his anger when he felt the rough skin of Bucky's finger brush across his cheek.

”Stop it. Ok. I’m tougher than you give me credit for but don’t tell Wilson and Romanova I got plans to take financial advantage of their betting on me.” Bucky dropped his hand to his side.

“Great; it’s about time someone taught them a lesson. I never approved of that game by the way.”

“Yeah, I know. I read your rules every once in awhile.” He shrugged.

Steve took a deep breath, “I meant what I said earlier. The next move, if there is one, is yours. I’m here no matter what even if you never want anything more than our friendship. I won’t touch you, I can wait…forever.”

“Forever? Shit, with us that could be another 90 years. I dunno if I’d wait that long for you.”

The moonlight was enough that Steve could the smirk on Bucky’s face. “Jerk.”

Bucky reached to touch Steve’s face again; he ran his thumb along his jaw and smiled. He murmured “Punk” just as his parted lips tenuously covered Steve’s mouth. The kiss was over nearly as soon as it started. Bucky pressed his forehead against Steve’s; he slipped his hand behind his head as he whispered “Not forever, Steve, I promise. Wait for me.”

Steve closed his eyes and breathed him in. “Not going anywhere."

Bucky broke the moment as he turned to survey the damages. “So, you gonna give me a ride home? I think I wrecked the truck.”

“I guess so. I thought you said you could drive?”

”I said I had a license to drive. I didn’t say I was any good at it. Remember I wreck shit.”

Steve got on the bike and wondered aloud “What happened to that handler?”

Bucky hesitated; “Ah….well…he died.”

“How?”

Bucky threw his leg over the seat and settled in behind Steve; “One day I remembered you.” He slipped his hands onto Steve’s hips and rested his chin on his shoulder; “I woke up, he was lying next to me.”

Steve turned his head to look at him; waiting for the answer he hoped was coming.

“I gutted him in the bed. There were no more Captain handlers after that.”

Steve nodded and started the bike.

Bucky faintly heard him say “Good.” As they roared off towards home; he buried his face in the back of Steve’s neck.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Well you boys were out late, did we miss the party?” Natasha drawled.

Sam and Natasha were sitting at the kitchen island staring at a laptop and shuffling through papers when Steve and Bucky sluggishly wandered in.

“No party. Just got home late.” Steve grumbled.

Bucky was incapable of speech; he worked on perfecting his grumpy persona.

“Well, something happened, the truck never made it home…..Barnes.” Sam accused; emphasis on Barnes.

Bucky shot Wilson a snarling look before he grabbed the juice from the fridge and downed it straight from the carton; ignoring the steady trickle that dripped down his chin and onto his T-shirt. He finished off with using the bottom of the T-shirt to wipe his mouth thereby exposing his unmistakably sculpted abs to the room; emphasis on Wilson.

“Nice Barnes, once again proving you possess zero social skills.”

“So Steve, the truck. What happened?” Natasha recognized the clear message from Barnes that he would not be goaded into talking; so change of tactics; ask Steve.

“Bucky swerved to avoid hitting a deer. He went off the road. He’s fine.”

“And the truck?” Sam pressed.

”And the deer?” Natasha asked quietly.

“Deer is fine. The truck is fine. It just needs to be pulled out.” Steve poured coffee for himself.

Bucky examined the muffins in a pastry box on the island; he poked at each one, ensuring that he left a fingerprint; a metal fingerprint, clearly embedded.

Sam stared intently at him; “You’re two super soldiers…you couldn’t pull it out last night?”

“No…we didn’t. It was dark. We’ll get it out today.” Steve joined them at the island.

Bucky stared into the open fridge long enough to ensure the door alarm would join the conversation.

“So Barnes, come on over here and take a look at this plan.” Sam pointed at the laptop screen.

Bucky ignored him; instead, he pulled a container from the fridge; headed for the far corner of the kitchen, leaving the fridge to sound its annoying alarm.

Steve interjected “Door.” Without glancing up from the pile of papers Nat had shoved in front of him.

Bucky performed a flawless sidekick to the fridge door without missing a step and settled on his final destination; sitting on the countertop by the back door; knowing that it would further irritate Wilson.

Sam persisted “Ok. So don’t look at the plans. Leave it all up to us, we’ll cover your ass out there. We’ll plan the mission, get the weapons, plan the route, get you in there; get you out; just like your former employer did. You just show up and wreck shit. We do the clean-up; you get the fun stuff.”

“Sam. That’s out of line.” Steve stared at him.

Bucky never looked up from eating the pasta and meatballs with his hands.

“Is it? Really? Ok.” Sam shook his head. He pointed to Natasha and himself. “We got this covered. We’ll be ready ….mission go is 1800 hours tomorrow. Sharon’s already called a dozen times; she’s attained new levels of screech beyond what I thought was even possible.”

Sam gestured towards Bucky and continued “He needs to prep; there are weapons to test; a uniform to fit; final details to review. No worries; Barnes, this is your mission and here we are the day before you head back out; the first time in how long? Three years? And you’ve barely looked at any of it.”

Bucky was unmoved by the attack. Sam wasn’t wrong.

Steve swam around in his guilt; if he hadn’t followed Bucky to the parking lot things would be different right now. “Sam…we just met last night about this; we got back late…this is my fault. I’ll make sure he goes over everything; the weapons, the plans…”

“Stop handling me, Rogers,” Bucky growled. He slid off the counter and tossed the container into the sink. “He’s right. I haven’t looked at any of it.”

Steve started to protest…..

“Stop it. I don’t run the missions. I execute the missions.” He headed straight for Sam.

Sam stood up; it was hard to know what Barnes was up to on a good day; never mind when he gets pissed off.

Bucky stopped less than an arm's length away from Sam; he made sure they had eye contact. “Let me clarify something for you: Hydra was not my…employer.” He stared at him a moment before continuing. “I’ve never planned a mission start to finish that wasn’t allowed. They handed me the weapons, I killed people. You want me to plan this, great. Let's do it, get me there, give me a weapon, get me out. There’s your plan.”

Steve and Natasha watched in tense anticipation.

Sam didn’t back down; “That’s the old way, that was their way of doing it. This is new, this is our way, be part of the planning, own the mission. Pick your poison, Barnes.”

Bucky stared hard at Wilson.

Steve couldn’t help himself, he started to intercede “Ahhh…” He pulled his words back when Bucky pointed at him.

“The hell with you Wilson. You think I know how to do this?”

“Yes, yes I do. You have years of experience, you remember it. Now let’s put it to good use.”

Bucky frowned. Then reached for the laptop.

Sam closed the cover and slid it slowly away from him. “Wash your hands.”

“Fuck you, Wilson.”

“Wash…your…hands.”

Steve held his breath and his words.

“Fine. Fine. Still, fuck you." Bucky headed deliberately for the sink.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Ok, Buck I’m gonna go get the truck with Sam.” Steve found Bucky sitting on the edge of the table in the tactical room, staring at the whiteboard covered with figures; numbers, times all the mission planning that Sam and Natasha had generated. “You’re looking a little stressed there, pal.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. “Damn this is hard.”

“Whole new world.” He leaned against the doorframe.

Bucky slid off the table to stand closer to Steve “Don’t be gone long.”

“I won’t. I’ll be back as soon as I can. You and Sam ok?”

“No, he’s an asshole I hate him.”

Steve laughed “That’s what he says about you.”

Bucky frowned. “Really? He said that?”

Steve decided to lie. “No, no, just kidding. He likes you, says it every day.”

“Liar.”

“Ok sooner I go the sooner I’m back.” Steve turned to leave.

“Wait.” Bucky followed to block his exit. Steve nearly ran into him. Bucky hovered near enough to feel the warmth of Steve’s body. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered.

Steve was uncertain about the question not about the answer. “Why are you asking that?”

“Cuz as much as I like flirting with you it isn’t fair, I get to flirt and you don’t. I get to touch and you don’t. You said my choice, what about your choice? What I want is equal.”

Steve leaned back a little to look at him. “I like the sound of equal and yes you can kiss me.”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He slipped his hand around Steve’s waist and pulled him closer. His mouth covered Steve’s. He didn’t pull away from Steve’s hands as they slide up his back to hold him tight against his body.

Bucky took note in one of the many compartments of his mind; there were no ghostly appearances for this encounter. Even the Voice had nothing to say. He was grateful for the reprieve.


	19. Dodger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again words in < > these brackets are in Russian. Thanks so much for following!

The reprieve short-lived. Bucky’s demons refused to be ignored.

Logic fell apart as soon as Steve's hands caressed his back; he lost himself in the feel of their mouths pressed together. The rush of endorphins overriding everything, kicking open a thousand locked doors to his past.

Compartmentalizing was hard to keep up when his brain was on fire.

He pushed harder, grinding their hips together; anxious for the feel of Steve’s full cock pressed against his struggling erection. His mind shoving aside that glaring distraction, he refocused on their kiss. All he could think of was filling his emptiness with Steve. His cock twitched at his moans; somewhere distant the metal plates recalibrated.

“Have you fucked him yet, Soldier?” The old woman’s words evoked a flash of anger. He shook it off; the force of his attempt to shut down the memory made Steve stumble backward; he followed him, as they landed against the wall.

He vaguely heard Steve groan and felt him tense; he dug his fingers in deeper; holding him in place. A wave of guilt washed over him; ‘You don’t deserve this you piece of shit, all those dead innocents, look at you, desperate for forgiveness. Ain’t coming this way, not from the dead.’ Bucky moaned in frustration and tightened his grip. It was his own voice offering the conviction, not a ghost, not that damn torturing Voice. His own voice.

Steve struggled out of the kiss. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky panted against his neck; he dragged his tongue across Steve’s cheek trying to re-engage.

“Hey, you’re not ok. What’s going on?” Steve twisted without completely letting go.

“Fine…I’m fine. Why?”

“Well. You’re about to remove my right kidney.” Steve drawled.

Bucky groaned “What’s the problem? You’ve got two of ‘em.”

”Funny guy.” Steve huffed.

“Sorry.” Bucky abruptly let go and stepped away; he worried his hands in his hair as he paced the gym. “You need to go get the truck…sorry. I need to study the mission plans.” He headed towards the tactical room then abruptly turned around. “No, I wrecked the truck..sorry…my fault…I’ll go get it.” He headed for the stairs.

‘Wait.” Steve blocked his final escape. “Just wait.”  “What just happened?”

Bucky looked away and shrugged.

Steve shifted closer. “I get it. You don't want to tell me about another flashback or asshole that hurt you. Fine."

"Not that." He shook his head.

“No? Here's what I think. You ready for what I think?" Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"No."

He shifted to face him. "I know they hurt you; I know you'll never tell me what really happened. Some days it drives me crazy thinking about it; I want to tear them apart."

Bucky shifted under his gaze. "Too late. Most of 'em are dead, Steve."

"And you're left with their ghosts. Do you know how that pisses me off? To see you suffer for what they did. Some nights the hatred consumes me; when I hear your nightmares." Steve paced away then back, putting his anger into motion.

"I'm sorry," Bucky mumbled.

"Stop. I'm not doing a good job with this" Steve pulled close again. "What I want to say is, I want a life with you. Bad dreams, voices, flashbacks; all of it."

"Don't be an idiot. I'm a mess." He tried to pull away but Steve grabbed his T-shirt. 

"This is true. But you're mine. I can't imagine being with anyone else; I know we never said anything about it 'til now; doesn't matter about the words, we've always known."

He shook his head and grabbed Steve's hand holding his shirt. "Before you go putting your foot in your mouth you need to know something." Bucky lowered his voice. "I was there...watching.....there was a piece of me awake....all the time."

"What do you mean?"

"I watched myself kill people. Like watching a movie of yourself I couldn't stop it. I tried, you can't know how that feels to see yourself murder people and not stop yourself."

Steve brushed Bucky's hair from his face. "I will never accept that you were anything other than a victim. None of your misplaced guilt will change that."

Bucky groaned. "Anyone ever tell you how bull-headed you are?"

"Yup....you."

Steve slipped his fingers into Bucky's metal hand. "Maybe now that we know how we feel we go slower. I told you I can wait."

Bucky nodded. He lifted his hand laced into Steve’s “I don’t deserve this. I deserve punishment; I deserve hell.”

Steve shot back firmly “Redemption.” He threw his arm around his neck; "You deserve forgiveness, your own. You deserve to have your life back.” 

"You don't get it." He tried to pull away.

Steve kept him close, "No. You don't get it. I will spend my last dying breath protecting you."

"Stop saying that kind of shit."

Steve pressed his forehead to Bucky's; "Make me." 

Bucky sighed "I can take you, Stevie. Don't try your luck." 

Steve brushed his lips against Bucky's mouth, he didn't' back away. 

 

 

 

“Hey, are we getting that truck or what?” Sam came thundering down the stairs.

Bucky slipped away and muttered, “I hate him.” He wandered towards the tactical room.

“Wait…Buck.”

“ Go on get out of here you’re a pain in the ass Rogers. I got work to do, right, Birdman.” Bucky waved dismissively over his shoulder.

Steve watched him walk away.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky waited until he heard the front door close before he slammed his fist through the wall. The computers were spared, but the chairs were fair game. He growled angrily as the table went over; he shredded all the maps and papers that didn't contain his intel.

“Fuck!” He tossed a broken chair again for emphasis. “Damn it!”

The intimate moments with Steve had sent him into an emotional turmoil that far surpassed anything he had experienced as the Soldier. What he felt for Steve, with Steve, was unlike anything he’d felt in the past 70 years. Now he was within a New York minute of sex with Steve; not just sex, but a life with Steve; and the ghosts and nightmares; guilt and shame, came roaring back to steal him away.

“You fucking stole my life; you stole him from me once already. You don’t fucking get to steal him again.” He sobbed, as he screamed at Hydra; at Pierce, at the universe.

He thought about putting another hole in the wall; but the drywall debacle, right after his breakdown curbed that urge. “Fucking Birdman will make me fix this.” Although it was actually Steve who insisted; “You broke it, you fix it.”

Bucky kicked a chair into splinters; stalked six strides then three, then six again around the room until finally dropping to the floor by the computers; his face buried in a demolished chair. He reached over his head and fumbled on the desktop to find the cell phone. It landed on the floor; he contemplated crushing it. Puking was under consideration but he opted out. "Too far to the bathroom and too much trouble to clean up.” He threw himself backward onto the floor to finish sobbing and wait out the post sob hiccupping.

“Fuck, Barnes you’re a mess. Get a grip. Time to grow up, a little.”

He picked up the phone and dialed Fury’s number.

“Is that you Dodger?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“Hello? I can hear you breathing so either this is a pervert call or it’s you Dodger.”

Bucky snarled.

“So assuming this is you I take it you’ve reconsidered my offer.”

Bucky reached to end the call.

“Don’t hang up.”

He hesitated “How the hell?” He glanced at the computer and covered the phone. His paranoia peaked.

“We’ve all got demons. The only shame is wrestling them alone.” “I’ll text you the number. We’re a go for tomorrow.”

“Oh and glad you’re on board.”

Bucky disconnected.

The text came immediately.

He was desperate; there were no more options. The last thing he wanted to do was make that call. Fury was insistent the night of the debriefing; “Call or no missions. You can have whatever you need; work alone or on a team. You call all the shots. Except on this one item. Engage or no missions.”

Bucky’s go-to response of ‘fuck off’ was tempting. But this was more complicated; considering he killed the man once and it was only by some damn miracle or something that he survived. This put Fury a cut above most others, except Steve. No one was above Steve.

His plan before all the hot and heavy kissing started was to back out of the mission at the last minute. He’d make up some stupid excuse or ‘go crazy’ then sulk in his room for a week. “No way I’m making that call.” He’d told himself and Fury. But the onslaught of memories, the ghosts, the gut-wrenching guilt and shame in the middle of merely kissing Steve convinced him; he was going to have to play the game if he ever wanted a chance at a life with him.

_“There’s more where that came from, Soldier. A lot of closed doors and monsters just waiting to jump out when you least expect it. Think about it; you and Steve, all cozy, doing the deed and bam! That fool who....”_

“Stop. I get it. Point taken.”

He reluctantly made the required call.

A man’s voice came across the computer speaker. “James?”

“Hello? James, are you there?”

Bucky was there. Lying on the floor below the level the camera so the only thing the man could see was the completely trashed room.

“I understand this is difficult; meeting a therapist for the first time. I’m glad you’ve called but if we’re going to work together I’d like to actually confirm that you’re in the room. Can you show yourself? At least enough for me to see that you’re alive.”

Bucky frowned; he raised his metal hand slowly until he heard.

“Ok, there you are. Great. Thanks. Shall we begin?”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

We’re good to go here.” Sharon’s voice was sharp and impatient. “Jet fuel isn’t cheap, ladies and gentlemen.” She stood by the quinjet with Fury.

Steve sighed and headed for the men’s room as Sam covered; “He’s got ritual, Sharon, he’s the Winter Soldier. You don’t think he just throws on the gear and hits the road do you? Takes a lot of checking to be Winter; knives, guns, zippers, pockets.”

“He checks his guns in the bathroom?” Sharon smirked.

“Yes. Indeed he does. Anywhere it damn well pleases him.”

 

Steve paused at the door as he took in the odd scene; Natasha standing over the full-on Winter Soldier as he hugged the porcelain throne, puking. She was holding his hair back from his face; a wet paper towel on his neck.

“You can do this, Barnes. Puking is cleansing, you’ll think faster, streamlining, you’re a leaf in the wind.”

“God, let it go woman It’s puking!” Bucky rasped between dry heaves. “It’s anxiety; it’s disgusting and it’s weak. I never puked before.” He groaned as he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Steve nodded for her to go.

She whispered “Good luck” as she squeezed past him out the door.

“So. Two choices.” Steve squatted down next to him. “Walk to the jet or walk to the exit. I’m following you. If you walk to the jet; we are all in. If you walk to the exit; we are all in. No looking back; no second-guessing. No judgments.”

Bucky crawled up the toilet and kneeled at the sink to splash water on his face and slurp in a handful to spit out. “Look at me, the fucking Winter Soldier puking and crying.”

“Stop it.” Steve put a hand on his chest. “You’re not him. You…are Bucky Barnes. You are allowed to be scared, sick, confused and an asshole…sometimes.” He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck “You get to decide how it goes from now on. You’re writing this story, pal. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky shook his head “Jerk.”

Steve patted him hard on the shoulder and headed for the door.

“I’ll be outside whichever way you go, we are right behind you.”

Bucky sighed as he stood up and stared at himself in the mirror. He shivered. The Winter Soldier was staring back. The black Kevlar vest fit was like his own skin; it covered a black long sleeve jersey minus a sleeve. The leather jacket was soft; supple; complimenting his tapered waist and broad chest while taking nothing away from the desired intent; to intimidate. Every item had function as well as form; pockets and sheaths; the holsters coalesced with the outfit perfectly. The metal arm was covered by the jacket; urban warfare necessitated. The uniform was everything he would have designed himself; easy to move in a crowd; conceal the weapons; yet remain functional in a fight. The team had never even asked him a question 

_“Looking familiar Soldier.”_

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

He paused outside the hanger doors. “Ok, Barnes. Two choices here.” To his right the way home. No missions, no fighting, just waiting for Hydra or the CIA or Stark to find them. To his left the team; the quinjet and a mission. Hydra, the CIA, and Stark would still be looking for them but at least this way he could be making a difference; this way maybe he could erase some of the red.

Bucky started walking…towards the team. Romanova in her dark form-fitting uniform; scary lethal. “She’s lethal-looking in her pajamas and those damn fluffy slippers never mind dressed like that.” He shook off the image of the fluffy slippers.

Wilson was smiling at him; “What?” Bucky vaguely thought. He was all decked out in his dark grey Falcon outfit; looking damn proud of himself “Peacock.”

Then there was Steve. The dark Nomad; Bucky thought nothing would outdo the Captain America uniform but this one ”Hot. Without a doubt, dark is better.” He felt an odd twitch in his groin. Steve picked up the shield, the Red Star was clear even in the dusk. “Like a damn beacon.” Bucky sighed.

_“You don’t have to do this, Soldier. You’ll betray us if you do. There will be a price to be paid for that betrayal.”_

“Yup, I know. I’m willing to pay that price.”

_“Who said you would be the one to pay?”_

“Anyone who tries to get to him will have to go through me.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

The quinjet brought them to an abandoned complex on Long Island in Boston Harbor. It had been a homeless shelter for many years and prior to that a tuberculosis sanatorium. A good base of operations since no one ventured there and the only road was shut down.

Once he stepped out of the bathroom…Bucky; weepy, anxious, self-doubting Bucky, was safely tucked deep within his mind. With every step towards the quinjet; every minute in the air; and now as they made their final prep, the Winter Soldier was emerging.

“Nervous?” Steve wondered aloud as he hovered, trying to hide his worry from prying eyes like Sharon.

“Nope.” Bucky lied. The Soldier didn’t.

“Got everything?”

“Yup.” The Soldier had checked everything times three. Bucky wondered “three plus three?”

“Let me fix this.” Steve fussed with the gold cord; tucking it under his sleeve.

“It’s good. Ok.” The Solider was annoyed. Bucky felt fuzzy and warm.

“We’re good to go people?” Sharon’s voice grated in Steve’s earpiece.

He shot a questioning look at Bucky, who nodded.

“We are good to go.”

Steve had a fleeting thought to kiss him on the cheek; or pat him on the shoulder. He checked that impulse as he watched Bucky transform; the look went cold; his posture stiffened; his eyes lost some of his distinctly vulnerable overtones.

“Be safe.” Was the best he could offer.

The Soldier nodded briefly. Steve watched him walk away alone.

<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Alone Fury, I work alone.” Bucky was quietly adamant from the start.

Even Steve couldn’t convince him otherwise. “Let me at least cover you.”

“No. It’s too risky. I can’t be worried about you and do my job.” He mumbled.

“Worried about me?” Steve laughed. “I can take care of myself.”

“No. You don’t get it. This is Hydra. I know what I’m doing.” Bucky had walked away, his favorite tactic, but Steve let it go. He could see how this anxiety was different; more focused; maybe more justified.

<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve scrutinized the two rather salty looking men hired to take Bucky in a small boat towards the city; Fury had sworn they were well-vetted. He didn’t miss how Bucky surveyed them before he got in the boat. He nodded as Sam became airborne and reassured in his earpiece “I’ll keep an eye on him Nomad.”

“All right we’re up next.” Natasha strode past him towards a second boat.

Fury encouraged “Good luck everyone. We’ve got a good plan; now let’s stick to it.”

“Dodger? You there?” Steve asked about three minutes into the mission.

There was no answer.

“Dodger? Answer me.” Steve called again.

“Steve; remember, he said no talking to him. He won’t answer.” Natasha whispered.

He immediately regretted agreeing to the ‘No talking to me rule.’

He tried to distract himself by recalling Bucky’s reaction to the Dodger nickname.

”Who the hell is Dodger?”

“You are.” they chorused.

He stared at the **DODGER** nameplate on his tactical locker and mumbled “Better than Jon Snow or yellow snow or Winter.” Although he secretly liked that one, especially the way Steve said it with affection.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Everything came into alignment for Bucky as they made their way across the harbor. Emotions faded away. It all came down to the singular focus of the mission; and survival. As they crossed the harbor, he took cold note of the second man’s nervous glances; he stared too much for a discreet hired hand.

_“Make a note. Find a new way back. He’s dirty.”_

“Ya think?” he muttered without caring if they heard him.

They delivered him to a small pier; he never looked back as they rowed away.

His only goal now; the first target.

A. H. Rossignol a mid-level Hydra operative with extensive holdings in the Boston area. His specialty: money; laundering, gambling, loans; a major source of income for Hydra. No one could touch him; his operation was so well maintained it was virtually impregnable. He was an all’s-fair-in-war kind of guy.

Hydra had sent the Winter Soldier to eliminate a competitor cutting into their profits.

Bucky carried the screams of that man in his dreams; saw his children’s faces as they watched him die.

_“Don’t lose focus, Soldier. Let it go.”_

“I’m plenty focused,” Bucky growled as he scaled a drainpipe up a building to start his quest.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Wilson, you got eyes on him?” Steve worried.

“Eyes on.”

“Where is he?”

Natasha stared at him.

“No can do, Nomad. You know the rules.”

“We can’t talk about his location, remember?” Natasha covered the comm mic.

“Right…right…I should’ve gone with him.” He worried some more.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<,

Bucky sprinted across the first roof; vaulted to the next one; landed in a tuck and role; on his feet and sprinting to the next jump. He skidded down into a crouch just before getting to the roof with the glass skylight; his target location. The clear night air calmed his pounding heart.

“ _Bingo there it is.”_

He shut his eyes briefly to adjust then searched for the faint blip of green on the surveillance cameras. ”Gotcha. One, two, three.” He stared at their slow traversing pattern.

_“Timing is everything, Soldier.”_

Bucky rose from the crouch like a sprinter ready for the gun. The closest camera swung away, he followed its arc; his body propelled forward by powerful coiled muscles. He landed in a roll that left him sprawled in the shadow of an air conditioning unit. Out of sight of the camera.

_“Nice landing klutz.”_

“Nooo. I meant to do that.”

He scrambled to press his back against the unit and ready the weapon. He pulled the GPS laser pistol from the holster; a state of the art tagging system.

 

“Nothing like it on the market, or off the market for that matter. Gathers audio, video, GPS.” Fury had boasted. "Barnes, no killing, no fighting. Information only. We track them, this will give us a window into their operations just like having someone on the inside. We can get through doors that we could otherwise never touch."

Bucky liked the plan but was skeptical of the device. “They’ll feel it. I’ll shoot them, they’ll look right at me. They’ll detect it; there’s software to detect trackers ya know.”

He refused categorically to allow anyone to tag him with it.

“Just try it out.” Sharon had said with a lot more malice than he was willing to trust.

He tested it on Sam instead.

“ _He still doesn’t know does he?”_

Bucky smirked. “Nope.”

 

The plan: tag the top two operatives quickly and move on. Rossignol and his right-hand man.

Bucky cracked his neck; wiggled his fingers. A quick shake of the hair out of his face reminded him of the quinjet prep: ”No Romanova…no scrunchies….I’m the Winter Soldier…he does not use scrunchies!”

He stared at the camera that covered the skylight; it swung left; away from him; he rolled to his feet and advanced. He had a glass cutter but as he had predicted; it was open; warm nights on the top floor of a building in the heart of the city.

The room below was nondescript; the important part were the players. Timing was paramount; the nightly money count; 9 pm sharp. The Soldier was ready; so was Bucky; he’d waited a very long time for this.

The first target arrived: Rossignol’s second in command, a squat man with too much belly and not enough hair, on his head anyway.

_“How do you know that Soldier?”_

“Shit get out of my head.”

Bucky waited for the second target; no sense hitting one without the other. The camera began its swing back towards him; he threw himself flat against the base of the skylight; “One thousand one, one thousand two…” The camera’s eye passed over his shadow; he crouched again.

Now both targets were in view.

He held his breath; blinked to settle his vision; brought Rossignol into his sights; and gently, lovingly, squeezed the trigger.

Holding a gun was as natural to Bucky as breathing. He didn’t realize until this moment how much he missed it.

_“It doesn’t shoot bullets.”_

“So what it’s still a gun.”

The laser registered its mark with a tiny green light blip. A successful hit according to manufacturers specs. He turned his attention to the short fat man and pulled the trigger; another green light. He scrambled to the shadows of the AC unit and sucked in air.

The small data tracker on his right wrist blinked two green dots. Success.

Bucky felt a rush of satisfaction; a job well done, so far. Not the kind of weighted satisfaction of the Soldier’s work. This was different, lighter, better.

His fingers brushed unconsciously against the gold-colored cord tucked beneath his sleeve.

<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Phase one is a success. We have data coming in.” Sharon’s voice jarred their ears.

“Is he clear?” Steve asked.

“Negative.” Sam’s whispered response.

“Then it’s not a success until he’s clear.” Steve tersely added.

“He’s moving now. Heading for the planned exit.”

Sam’s narrative was doing the job; keep Steve in check.

“Don’t let me see you, Steve. Don’t interfere.” Bucky had been clear.

“How about I narrate your progress for him?” Bucky squinted at Wilson. Not quite trusting the offer but ultimately accepting the compromise.

The team had the plan memorized, down to every detail. Despite Bucky’s contention that he “only wrecked shit” and that his help in planning “wasn’t allowed” he’d obviously been paying attention all those years of being the Hand of Hydra. The plan was nearly flawless.

Ultimately, Steve had final approval though; that was the stipulation he had set with Fury. “I get the last word.”

Sharon didn’t know.

Even Bucky didn’t know; Steve was determined he’d protect him one way or another.

 

Steve and Natasha came ashore at a small fishing pier near the initial point of contact for Bucky. They would parallel his path on the rooftops; covering his six from the alleys and streets. They paused two blocks from the target building when Sam reported on Bucky’s turn for the exit route.

“Ok, first one down; Steve,” Natasha whispered. “He’ll be fine now. I’ll head to phase two.” She squeezed his arm.

He nodded and headed in the direction he knew Bucky would take for his next target.

 

Sam’s voice cut in “He’s got two bogies on his tail.”

Steve froze. “What? Is he on the comm? Tell him?”

Natasha checked the comm link; Bucky’s was on but “It’s muted.”

Steve recalled Bucky’s new set of rules, ”No comm in my ear! I got more than enough voices in my head I don’t need all of you yapping away. Especially that woman working with Fury.”

Steve glared up as he raced towards the target’s building. “Damn it. Talk to me, Wilson.”

“Two armed men; on the roof.”

Steve slid to a halt at the location.

“They haven’t seen him yet.”

He jumped to grab the ladder.

“He’s pulled back; looks like he knows they’re there.”

He raced up the rungs, his heart pounding; Bucky was up there; right up there on that roof, facing armed men and Steve wasn’t there; couldn’t protect him. “Why did I agree to this stupid plan?”

“Sam…status…” Steve was nearly at the top.

“Wait!”

Steve froze.

“He’s good. They’re down. He took them down.”

He sighed.

“Ahh Nomad, get out of there. He’s gonna be pissed if he sees you.”

Steve slid then tumbled down the ladder to retreat just seconds before Bucky looked down.

<<<<<<<<<<<

 

His exit was nearly complete when the rooftop door opened and two of Rossignol’s soldiers crept out. They were heavily armed. He felt rather than heard them arrive.

” _This was not part of the plan. They’re early. Or you’re late.”_

“Nooo. I am not late. They are an unforeseen complication.” Bucky complained as he ducked behind an air vent.

“No killing. No fighting. No evidence of being here. No damn time for this.”

He wagged his head side to side in resignation and dug out the stun discs that Natasha had forced him to take. ”I don’t want these sissy stupid stun discs.” He had protested vigorously when she shoved them into his pocket while he was puking.

“You never know when they’ll come in handy. Now that you’ve gone non-lethal.”

He growled as he fiddled with them. The soldiers advanced; nearly at his shoulder; he pulled back to the far side of the vent; they passed him.

“Here goes, these stupid things better work.”

Seconds later he was staring at two quivering piles of humanity; alive but out of commission.

_“She’ll never let you live that down.”_

“She’ll never know, pal. I ain’t telling her and neither are you.”

Bucky didn’t factor in Sam’s spying from the air.

He slid down the fire escape ladder; “What was that about anyway, they were early.”

_“Are you being paranoid? Or is that a real question?”_

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Fury updated the team. “Alright, people; we’ve acquired our data points; our person is out. Now on to phase two.”

The next target on Bucky’s list was O’Rourke a high profile businessperson; looked every bit like a respected Bostonian. He actually fronted a protection agency; that was the polite euphemism. He commanded an army; thugs; mercenaries; his protection went far beyond the locals and extended worldwide. No job was too dirty if the money was right. He was on Hydra’s payroll as a contractor. No “Hail, Hydra” for him. Only “Hail, Hydra’s cash.”

_“You worked for this one a few times, Soldier. You got your hands dirty, red dirty for this one.”_

Bucky stumbled as he ran the alleyways heading for the next hit location.

“Be quiet…I know what I did. Working on it.” He muttered.

Getting to this man would be a challenge. He lived in a high rise; security on security. The man wasn’t just a fat slob sending men into war; he was a combatant; fit, dangerous in his own right. Bucky knew first hand how dangerous. Had the scars to remind him. O’Rourke rolled high; big money charity events; jetting off all over the world. A collector of all things rare and endangered; white rhino; ivory; narwhal tusks. “He’d mount a unicorn head if they actually existed.” Bucky groaned as he recalled the man’s laughter; he was always laughing; a big expansive, deceptive laugh…until he entered the underground.

“Shit got real then.” He told the Voice who wasn’t listening.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“He’s approaching the second target.” Sam narrated.

Natasha parked herself on the west side of a small green expanse in the middle of the city. “In position.”

Steve took the east vantage point. “Ready.”

Bucky was stalking forward in the shadows of the winding alleys and back streets that defined Boston. It was oddly disconcerting that the humanity of the city never even noticed him. Armed to the teeth, dressed all in black; metal arm. “Weird.” He thought absently.

The target location was a park.

O’Rourke was a smart man; well versed in espionage, warfare and how to survive. And he had a healthy dose of paranoia…a lot like Bucky. He wouldn’t be tagged easily, and infiltrating the building without weeks of reconnaissance was out of the question.

“So play to the man’s weakness.” Bucky had advised when everyone scratched their heads. He didn’t want to think about his own weaknesses.

He had information no one else did. O’Rourke; big, tough, killer of men, cruel and exacting; had a weakness. Dogs. He loved his dogs, more than he loved any other human on the planet.

The Soldier saw this. Bucky remembered it. The man let his guard down in front of the Soldier; most of these targets made that mistake; they didn’t think of him as human; so why hide. The Soldier saw it all.

Bucky had a twinge of regret….about the dogs.

Every night, 10 pm O’Rourke’s maid would walk the dogs. Like clockwork, they exited the building and headed for the park. All seasons, all weather, all years. Always the same.

“Rituals. That’s what does a man in. Being predictable.” Bucky told the Voice.

_“Well that and stupidity, laziness, emotions, love…”_

“Enough.”

Bucky watched from the shadows. He knew Romanova was to his left; guessed that Steve was on his right because no matter how he protested he knew “Rogers won’t let me outta his sight.”

When the maid arrived at the park; Bucky blew the dog whistle and trotted away towards a side street. The dogs scrambled, barked, whined; Bucky kept moving, deep in the shadows; calling those damn dogs with the silent whistle. They broke free and headed straight for him.

He ran, drawing them out of the sightlines of the park and the maid. He rounded a corner and flattened against the wall. Soon he was staring down at two yapping fuzzballs jumping all over his legs. He grimaced stiffly as they pinned him there.

“Dodger…you're afraid of dogs?” He could hear the amusement in Romanova’s voice as she joined him.

He glared at her.

”Ok…moving on…I got ‘em.” She picked up the leashes and headed away from the park.

Bucky tagged the maid as she passed his vantage point in a darkened doorway. He didn’t feel guilty about it; she wasn’t actually the maid; she was O’Rourke’s sister, lover, and partner in a rancid side business involving synthetic drugs and prostitution.

_Soldier, you could write a book. It’d be a best seller for all the dirt you know._

Bucky sighed in exasperation.

She made the call to O’Rourke as predicted, Bucky only needed to wait.

10:30 pm A fit-looking man in two hundred dollar jeans and Gucci shoes started screaming at the woman.

“Right on time, pal.”

Bucky moved from the doorway.

O’Rourke called for his dogs.

The Soldier strode forward, steady pace, no flinching, no caution, no hesitation.

Romanova’s voice lilted in the background “Are these your little babies?”

Barking, whining dogs; the Soldier growled; Bucky shook off clinging images.

He was nearly 15 feet away.

“ _Too close, Soldier. He’ll see you.”_

“I got this.”

Bucky raised his arm, aimed coldly and fired. He ducked behind a tree just as O’Rourke looked his way.

“Green for go. Two more down.” He glanced at the data on his wrist, then checked on Romanova. She was jogging away from the targets and dogs; waving like an idiot. “Have a great night you two.”

Bucky would have laughed if the flood of memories weren’t overwhelming him.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Clear. Both are clear.” Sam’s reassuring voice helped calm Steve’s nerves.

“That was close, too close. He nearly walked right up to that target.”

“Nat, how’d he look when you saw him? Was he organized?”

“Nomad, stop talking! Meet me at the next rendezvous.”

“We have data on four subjects. Good job everyone.” Sharon actually sounded satisfied.

“One more target to go.”

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The third target, Ellingwood. A career Hydra operative so entrenched in the community she operated her businesses with the Hydra logo clearly plastered all over it. Even the Soldier wondered about that kind of arrogance. Or confidence.

Her principle front was a dance club. Her real business was trafficking in people. All shapes and sizes; and ages.

Hydra wasn’t always into people traffic; too much overhead. However, her ‘in your face’ approach brought in the new recruits; young and impressionable; easy to manipulate. She brought in the disenfranchised; the ones that saw the ‘other’ as the enemy. Her door always open to those who only wanted to hate. She fed the manpower pipeline that Hydra needed for its scut work. Mindless sheep were always needed.

Waking dreams and distracting thoughts filled Bucky's mind as he traveled the streets making his way to Ellingwood. Leaving behind the rooftop encounter, mind racing ahead to his plans, fleeting moments wondering about Steve, lost in the now, close to caught off-guard by the van squealing to a halt inches from his path. The door swinging wide, three large dark-clad men scrambling from the door to spread a wide half-circle blocking his path.

” _Soldier, remember the Widow's chopper, you’re not actually going to fall for that again are you?”_

“Not gonna forget that, nope." A well-rehearsed reach to pull two blades from their sheaths tucked at the small of his back, he widened his stance and took one step back to balance.

“I hope you’re up for this, I am very cranky and on a really tight schedule.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Shit he’s in trouble again.” Sam’s words startled Steve.

“Where is he?” Steve demanded.

“Four blocks to your left.”

Steve headed out at a run. Natasha backtracked and followed him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

His attackers weren’t idiots. They had no intention of fighting him head on. Bucky spotted the tranquilizer gun within seconds.

“Way too many tranq darts in my lifetime.”

A roundhouse kick sent the dart gun flying as the second man fired a taser. It lodged in his side; the shock mostly deterred by the Kevlar vest.

“Well, that was helpful.” He didn’t relish the thought of any more shocks to his already scrambled brain; the last episodes with the old Widow were quite enough. He ripped the taser points from his side and tossed it; he ignored the cramps wracking his belly. He did not ignore how pissed it made him.

The third man ran forward and slammed into his side; knocking him off balance briefly. Bucky’s knife raked across his back. No effect.

“Everybody’s got Kevlar these days.”

Bucky drove a knee into the man’s chest and jammed the knife into his vulnerable armpit. He kneed him again to shake him off.

He felt a violent tug backward around his neck. A garrote was tightly closing with decisive leverage.

“Shit. This is it.”

But there was a particular feature that Romanova had added to his uniform as a joke; a Kevlar throat guard. He choked out a laugh as the man hauled down and back.

Bucky threw himself backward to land full force on top of his attacker. He heard a loud “Oofff" as the man went limp.

“Thanks, Romanova.”

Bucky rolled up from the ground in a perfect kick up to face his last attacker.

“So I’m on a schedule here. Two down, one to go. You can leave now and let me finish my job or I can beat the crap out of you. What’s it gonna be?”

The man stood ready to fight; then relaxed his stance.

“Come on I have a schedule.”

The man smiled. "<Seventeen. Longing. One.>”

Bucky’s head shook in a way it hadn’t in several weeks. A flash of pain seared through his head. He vaguely thought “The words….out of order.”

Heat roared up from his belly. He staggered back a step and swallowed hard. ”Mother? Help me.”

Bucky didn’t slip away though. It was painful; frightening. Sounds and movement slowed down.

The man was closer now; right next to him. The knife rose, stabbing but the man pushed his hand away easily.

”No….not again.”

Someone grabbed his collar; yanked hard, shaking him.

_“Wake up, Soldier! Child, wake up!”_

Slowly blinking he focused in time to see a needle hovering close to his neck.

“What the fu…” Speaking hurt his brain. But something moved his arm.

A distant scream startled him.

A warm sensation on his metal fingers caught his attention; it was covered in blood. There was a man writhing in pain at his feet.

Bucky staggered back; then away; towards his next target.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve and Natasha skidded to a halt at the last spot where Sam saw Bucky, clear evidence of the fight, pool of blood, a crushed hypodermic needle and one of Bucky’s knives. A call to Sam, “Wilson, where is he?”

HIs answer reassuring, “He’s on the move. Heading for the next target."

“Injured?”

“Not that I could see. But maybe drugged? He staggered."

“Steve look at this.” Natasha held up the knife before slipping it in her boot.

A hand to his ear, quick connection again with Sam, "Could you see who attacked him?”

His answer efficient, “Three big mercs, unmarked black van, not a friendly looking bunch. Sharon's got the license plate.”

Worry played clear across Steve's features, pulling in a deep breath, his gaze taking in the darkened streets, his search for answers interrupted by Sam, “He’s almost at target three. Better get moving.”

A turn to Natasha, "Something's not adding up."

Slow shake of her head, ”A couple of guards making early rounds is a coincidence. Three mercenaries fully armed is a hit.”

Steve reached for the comm-link, a hesitant second before switching it off,  he glanced at Natasha, “These guys knew he would be here. Knew where to find him."

 Following his lead, Natasha spoke her text to Sam out-loud, "Get off the comm. We've got a mole."


	20. Tentacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so appreciate your following along. As always I am open to constructive critiques and feedback. Thank you!

Whenever his handlers used the words to trigger the Winter Soldier, the raging pain in his head would give way to an emptiness that was consoling if not comfortable. He wouldn’t remember himself or what he did; only their assignments. But this time, with the words out of order; the searing pain was not going away. His vision blurred and wavered; sweat was running down his back, making the black jersey cling heavy against his skin. He forced himself to push forward; there was a time frame to follow; a target to acquire. Redemption to be had. It never came to mind that maybe the old widow made good on her promise to reverse the words.

“ _At least you’re not puking, Soldier.”_

He couldn’t hear the Voice. That happened sometimes; right after the wipes and words were employed. Everything went away. Memories, ghosts, voices, emotions; Bucky clung to the mission as a point of focus. A way to keep from drowning in the sea of pain.

“Get in. Tag the mark. Get out. Move on.” Bucky repeated his simple mission over and over fighting the urge to descend into his nightmares.

He staggered down the side streets as urgently as his confusion would allow. It was nearly time for his contact with the next target; the ambush was unforeseen but the Soldier had done this enough to factor in distractions. The Soldier pressed on; Bucky worried why they knew about the words; had a tranquilizer gun and a taser. “Getting set up, Barnes….stupid to trust any of ‘em.” He scolded himself as he tucked away his suspicions into yet another compartment and resolved “Finish this….then maim the bitch.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Control is this operation secure?” Steve asked tersely.

“Affirmative, Nomad. We are secure.” Sharon’s voice grated in their ears.

“Well you may be secure but our operative is two for two with threats at this point.” Steve didn’t hide his irritation. “What the hell is going on.”

“I repeat. We are secure.” Sharon held firm.

Fury cut in “Nomad….we have no clear evidence of another threat. But this is your call. We are ready to abort on your word, you’ll need to get your operative out of the field though no communications are open.”

Steve, Natasha, and Sam converged in the shadows near the target’s building; they shut down their comm mics; and moved to the backup plan. Stick together as a team; leave Fury’s team out.

Sam shook his head “I couldn’t get to him….it happened so fast.”

“He’s not helpless, you said that yourself, he got away.”

“He staggered off. I know they hit him with a taser maybe a tranquilizer.”

“So he’s still on his feet.” But Steve’s sense of dread was screaming at him to pull Bucky out.

“Barnes isn’t gonna be happy if you try to stop him,” Natasha said what Steve was already thinking.

“What’s your call, Nomad? Are you there?” Fury’s voice broke in.

Steve’s jaw twitched as he looked from Natasha to Sam. “That ambush was no coincidence...someone’s feeding out his locations.” He switched on the comm mic. “Abort. Abort the mission. We’ll collect the operative immediately and be in touch.” Steve jammed the shield hard onto his forearm and headed for Bucky’s planned contact. “Let’s go get him.”

Sam nodded and took flight.

Natasha ran after Steve. “Texting only boys can’t believe I’m saying that. But the less we have to say to the airwaves the safer he’ll be.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky slid down a brick wall across from the entrance to the dance club. It was nearly 11 pm; the club doors would open soon and his target would arrive. The street was filled with a growing crowd of hopefuls; waiting for their chance at entry to Tentacles; one of the hottest underground dance clubs in the country. Not everyone was chosen to get in; fewer still were chosen to serve. Those that were chosen disappeared; one way or another. “The Gateway to Hydra.” Was what the modern day Hydra elite called it. The Soldier had no opinion. Bucky cringed “Gateway to Hell.”

He was two minutes early. Not that he was aware of his timing or of the growing crowd in the street. His hearing was forever attuned to the sounds of a threat; trained to let the laughter and hum of a benign crowd fall into the category of white noise. He ignored them to focus on his own internal dialogue. On a good day his thought pattern was loose and tangential; but now after the prolonged adrenalin rush; a taser, the words; his pressured mind was functioning like a pinball machine. He squatted with his butt on his heels, letting the solidness of the brick wall ground his body if not his thinking.

“Lost the knife...Widow’s gonna kill me.”

‘Kevlar neck guard….don’t tell her it worked...she’ll crow.”

“Birdman….watching me...creepy. Reporting back to Steve. Like I’m his kid or something”

“Shit...dyin’ of thirst...shoulda brought that water bottle...Steve...god...you’re so hilarious….” Bucky huffed an awkward laugh as he recalled Steve trying to get him to take a water bottle from the quinjet. “Are you crazy, Rogers? Really? NO. No stupid water bottles.” Bucky let a quick rush of affection warm his sweat shivering body.

He wondered about his target:

“Did I meet her? Can’t remember how do I know her?”

“ _Never met her, Soldier. Pierce owned you by then. Kept you all to himself.”_

“Pierce? I almost forgot. I met her though?”

“ _No never met her. Knew about her.”_

“But how do I know her?”

“ _Soldier! Irrelevant! Focus on the mission.”_

“Not irrelevant! I don’t know what she looks like!” Bucky shouted out loud.The hum of the crowd dipped into silence for a moment, then laughter. Bucky shivered.

“ _Get a grip, Soldier. You are calling attention to yourself.”_

He became painfully aware of eyes staring at him. Many sets of eyes. “Shit, Barnes.”

He didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he shifted his energy into his thighs to slowly rise from a sitting squat; pushing his body up to his full height, letting the menace of the Soldier fill his frame and mind. He consciously calibrated the metal plates; the subtle sound of the warning wasn’t lost on those closest to him.

He vaguely heard random comments as the laughter died down.

“Whoa, dude, he’s got a gun.” “Get away from him.”

Bucky refocused on his mission.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“No sign of him.” Sam texted from the roof of the building across the street.

“Nothing here.” Natasha was prowling through the waiting throng.

Steve watched from the North end of the street; where the target’s vehicle was expected to arrive. His best vantage point to spot Bucky if all went according to plan. Her vehicle would arrive at 11 pm. Bodyguards; personal assistant; this month’s lover; then the target would all emerge. She would be easy to spot, a tall and sturdy woman, middle-aged with a shaved head and a demanding presence. Her trademark feature, from the few photos they could find, a red fur tentacled shawl that snaked around her neck and shoulders; no matter the outfit.

“Maybe he didn’t make it this far.” Steve worried they’d missed him as they raced along his planned route. “What if the taser shock threw him off course; what if he fell or was drugged, we could’ve run right by him.” He thought about backtracking.

“Trust your instincts Nomad.” Fury’s whispered comment startled him from his thoughts; making him wonder if he had said any of it out loud. He was sure he hadn’t but took Fury’s advice as a sign.

“Is this how it is for Bucky? Voices in his ear telling him what to think or do?” Steve couldn’t let the wave of empathy take over at the moment. He tucked it away and resolved to do just that; trust his instincts.

“That’s the plan, control. That is the plan.” Steve stood his ground, waiting for Bucky.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The Soldier stood ready as the limousine approached. The gawking crowd lost interest; their short attention span diverted easily with the opening of the club doors. He counted on the mayhem; now and always; it was how he did his best work. Stay focused while chaos erupted.

The vehicle pulled up; the crowd parted for Ellingwood, with the help of her bodyguards. The Soldier stepped forward, steady, openly stalking her; unwavering attention on her alone. He pushed past the sapling humans around him, ignored the commands to “Stop, stand down.” The guns that were drawn and pointed at him had no meaning; they didn't deter his singular progress. He knew they wouldn’t use them; they didn't have the guts to actually pull the trigger, not here. Not in public like this.

“ _Taking a big gamble, Soldier. Like the old days.”_

“Not a gamble. A fact, a known fact. They won’t shoot. She’ll want more.”

Bucky kept his dialogue to himself as he strode with real menace towards his target, but never raised a hand; he kept the laser gun, and the real gun, tucked in their holsters.

“STOP.” The command rang through the crowd who scattered screaming away from the stand-off.

<<<<<<<<<<

Steve looked on with horror as a wave of humanity fell away from the unfolding confrontation between Bucky and his target’s entourage. He pushed forward against the running crowd; readied the shield, lined up his throw; take them out before they kill him.

Sam spread the wings and stepped to the ledge; guns up and aimed for the guards.

Natasha scrambled onto a car roof; stun gun aimed at the target.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky didn’t flinch, but he stopped. His eyes shifted to connect with his target’s gaze; he saw her betray emotion for a split second. “Fear? Surprise? No matter; I gotcha.” He allowed the few thoughts to run through his head. He knew from her fleeting look of uncertainty; she’d taken the bait that he offered...himself.

“Enough, gentlemen. Lower your weapons.” Ellingwood waved her hand dismissively as her guards slowly obeyed.  
“Mistress look at him he’s a clear threat.” Her number one protector expressed his concern vehemently.

“Look at him indeed. Have you no sense of history? No sense of who you work for? Fool. Perhaps promoting you was a mistake.” She pushed him aside to approach Bucky.

“Mistress, please use caution.” The guard stepped closer, trying to insert himself between her and the object of her attention.

  
“If you value your life you will not step in my way again.” She shot her guard a final warning glance before locking eyes again with Bucky.

“This is the Winter Soldier.” She announced. “He is a legend in Hydra. You could learn a few things from him.”

“Mistress I know who he is. The Winter Soldier was lost to Hydra. Until proven otherwise he is an enemy.”

“Are you an enemy, Soldier?” She cooed as she reached to grip his metal arm.

Bucky didn't answer; he only stared at her; boldly. But he made no move to hurt her or pull away; he only allowed a faint tilt of his head to the side and softened his stance.

_“You’re coming home? Really? How did I miss this plan?”_

Bucky didn’t dare answer the Voice in his head; he was too afraid he’d say it out loud. But deep in the recesses of his mind, he whispered “Makin’ it up as I go, pal.”

He followed his target’s insistent pull on his arm as she led him into the club.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“What the hell?” Sam’s text flashed on their phones.

“???” Natasha answered.

Steve groaned “Bucky no.”

The plan as written and agreed upon was to tag her from the street when she emerged from the vehicle. No contact, no talk, no overt risks and no evidence that he was there.

“Ok. He blew that plan out of the water.” Sam groused when they regrouped near the entrance to the club.

“I have the blueprints, alternate entrances we can get in there and follow him.” Natasha was on her phone frantically pulling up schematics. “There are sewage drains; water runoffs; we can get in there without being seen.”

“No. No more chasing him.” Steve’s voice had a hint of fatigue.

“What? You can’t mean that.” Natasha grabbed his arm.

Before he could answer Sharon’s voice cut in “Status report? Do you have Dodger in your possession?”

Steve felt a red flush of anger at her choice of the word ‘possession’. He was more than tired of a few things lately. Her attitude was one; always watching Bucky walk away was another. He didn't answer her.

The comms crackled with static and a new voice cut in:

“Rogers enlighten us, don’t you get tired of chasing after him? Seems like all he ever does is run away from you. You screw over you’re friends for that piece of shit and what kind of gratitude do you get. Nothing. He runs.”

They stood in stunned silence before Steve barked “Who the hell….” he remembered to turn on his comm mic then “Who the hell is this?”

Natasha furiously tried to triangulate the signal.

Sam texted Fury “What the hell is going on? Our commlink has been hijacked.”

They didn’t have to see the speaker’s face to hear the sneering “You’ll find out soon enough. The clock is ticking though. Better catch him before I do. Rogers, you really think you can keep him safe from me?”

Steve drew in a deep and shaky breath. The voice on the comm was altered to hide their identity but the cadence and tone felt familiar; although he wasn’t sure and now wasn’t the time for speculation.

Natasha switched on her comm. “Sharon, what is going on? Fury who was that?”

“No idea, we are tracking the signal.” Fury hurriedly offered.

“We remain secure, people. Keep it together Romanova.” Sharon barked.  
“Excuse me...” Natasha hissed.

A flurry of scrambled denials, angry questions, and accusations, all wasted time as Bucky descended into his past and Steve’s hope slipped away.

“Time to stop watching him walk away; stop chasing him. Time to stop acting like he’s incompetent. Let him go, Rogers.” Steve muttered to himself.

Natasha was staring at him. “Let him go? You’re not saying that? It’s Barnes, you can’t let him go.” Her voice trailed up at the end.

Sam shook his head “Alright, deja vu, we’ve been here before. Let him go, then chase him down. I get it, he’s slippery but I’ll say it, who cares, he's grown on me. Honestly, I can’t live without the guy. Don’t tell him that but I for one will not stop chasing him.”

Steve stepped away from them and looked up at the sky. There weren't any stars; not here in the city; only darkness hovered over them; deep and empty, no sliver or chance at anything different. He felt the overwhelming urge to give up. He nearly let the darkness take him.

“No more chasing Sam.” He whispered.

“Steve. No way...”

“Rogers, it’s Barnes.”

“Let me finish….no more chasing after him. Now… we trust him. He knows what he’s doing. The question is how do we help him.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The deafening music hammered into his chest and ears; worse than gunfire; that at least was intermittent; this was relentless. The pulsating, whirling lights flashing over and through the swarms of moving bodies brought him right back to the day of his suicide attempt. Cold and clammy hands touching his face and body. Fingers slipping across his hair; writhing bodies pressed against his own. Only this was real, not a nightmare or a dream; he brought to bear every fiber of self-restraint to not pull a weapon and clear a path for himself. He definitely did not think about puking.

His target had slipped her fingers into his metal hand; he could remotely feel her thumb stroking across the back of it; it was oddly sickening. She led him relentlessly forward through the crowd, towards her private suite overlooking the dance floor. He averted his eyes towards the ground; the strobe lights stirred a too familiar tremor in his mind. He vaguely thought he saw a shadow of Maria Stark as he grabbed onto that damn leaf that Sam was always talking about.

“What brings you here, Soldier?” Ellingwood sat on the edge of a mahogany desk in the middle of a poshly decorated office. The music was muted here; merely a pulsing shudder like a heartbeat beneath the skin of a neck. She ran her eyes over him up and down slowly; the way one might look over an animal’s confirmation before purchase; hoping for a proven winner. He would have felt violated if it hadn’t happened before; if he hadn’t counted on it as his way in the door. Bucky decided to do something unexpected for the Soldier.

He smirked.

“You answer me with a smirk? Should I listen to my guards and have you killed?” She shifted her feet a hair; betraying her readiness to move quickly if needed.

Her guards tightened their grip on the weapons; he had taken note of the safeties being off; they weren’t completely inept.

“You have something I want Mistress,” Bucky spoke carefully, cadenced, the way he guessed they would have thought a mindless pawn would speak. But with a hint of the provocative.

“Something? What could I have that would interest you? A mere soldier.” She relaxed a bit and sipped the drink her assistant presented.

“Access. You have access…..to the underground. I want to go there.” Bucky wasn’t a spy; not like Romanova. Lying wasn’t his first choice. Cutting straight to the chase was his way. He wanted to get to the vast array of Hydra resources in the underground buried deep below the bustling city.

She laughed “I have access….correct. But why would I let you go there? What do you want there?”

“I want to….go….home.” Still, he wasn’t lying. He desperately wanted to go home. He was hot and tired; his head hurt, Mrs. Stark was staring at him from the other side of the window and it was long past time to take his medications. He was missing Steve, and Romanova a little; and Sam, but he wouldn’t admit it, and well if he let in the maudlin sentimentality he even missed the old yellow farmhouse.

Ellingwood’s words dragged him back from his tangential thoughts “You walked away from Hydra, from your keepers; your family. And now you stroll in here after three years and announce you want to come home? You certainly have balls. I”ve heard that about you.”

“I...thought Hydra was dead...Project Insight….I was confused. There’s no place for me out here. I want to go home; at least in the underground I won’t have to run.”

She studied him for a moment. “What’s in it for me? Are you asking for a kindness? I think you know that I’m a businesswoman after all, not prone to kindness.”

Bucky knew it would come down to this. What would he offer her to pay for access both to the underground as he asked but also the access to her for his overt mission? It would cost him to tag her; cost even more to get to his goal; his unspoken mission.

“My time with Hydra is over. Why wipe my mind and store me in cryo when you have an army of brainless sheep. You have them.” Bucky gestured to the dance floor and glanced at the guards surrounding him. “You don’t need me….as a soldier.” His tone at the end said all it needed.

She smiled and placed her drink on the desk. “But that arm; your enhancements. Those sheep are just that, sheep. You on the other hand….” She crossed to take his metal hand and open it flat; her eyes stayed locked on his as she ran her tongue across his palm and sucked at his fingertips. “Can you feel that?”

Bucky did everything in his power to control the twitch deep within his shoulder that said: “Strangle this monster right now.” He let the Soldier’s ability to separate from the uncomfortable to take over as he whispered “Yes.”

Her hand came up to stroke his cheek; her thumb dragged across his lips. He could hear the woman’s lover let out a menacing hiss of disapproval; he ignored it and raised his flesh hand to embrace the back of her neck and pull her into a devouring, filthy kiss.

She never felt the tagging tracker palmed in his hand, as it slipped into the flesh on her neck. He made damn sure that kiss was everything loving, dirty and lustful that he’d ever wanted to do to Steve and then some. It was the only way to tag her and get to the next step of his plan.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Got him,” Natasha announced.

Sam was under the counter in the security office disabling the video recordings.

Steve was staring dumbfounded at the screen.

“Well...that was filthy.” Natasha murmured.

Steve blushed.

Sam wondered “What? What’s filthy?” By the time he stood up and looked at the live feed the kiss was over and Bucky was dispatching the three guards without their help.

“Nothing of interest,” Steve mumbled.

“What did I miss? Come on...” Sam whined.

“Later.” Natasha mouthed and put one finger to her lips.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<,

Steve and Natasha burst through the door to Ellingwood’s office; Steve was up high, shield braced and ready to fly.

Natasha low, she tucked and rolled into the room stunners up and ready.

Sam ran in right behind them, guns were drawn.

Bucky swung around; his metal hand was tight around Ellingwood’s neck; his pupils were full and dark, the way he looked after a particularly bad nightmare, Steve thought.

“It’s ok, pal. Let her go. Not our mission, right.” Steve tried to talk him down.

Natasha checked the guards. “Alive, Steve.” She went cautiously towards the sniveling sounds that came from under the desk.

“Come on. Let her go.” Steve crept closer.

“No. I don’t want to go with you. Stay away from me.” Bucky sounded uncertain.

He backed up towards a doorway; away from Steve and Natasha; dragging the target with him.

“Bucky...stop….it’s over. We need to go.”

  
“Shut up. Stop talking right now!” He raised a hand and pointed a gun directly at Steve. It wasn't the laser gun.

Steve stopped moving. “Ok. We’re good here.”

Sam froze.

Natasha didn’t.

She stunned Bucky’s target right in his arms; the woman slumped down and fell at his feet. He shivered with the stun's aftershock that ran through his arm. She then turned the stun gun on him. “Drop the gun Soldier. You’re not getting out of this.” She winked at Steve and tilted her head towards the desk.

Bucky watched Romanova with uncertainty; his hand with the gun still raised but not pointed at anyone in particular.

“God he looks tired.” She thought absently.

Steve moved cautiously forward, watching Bucky, not quite sure of what his end game was. He peeked under the desk to find two weeping souls too terrified to even look at him. “Come on, come out...no one’s going to hurt you.” He gently pulled them out as they wailed loudly at the sight of Bucky holding a gun with their boss’s limp body at his feet.

Sam took over “Alright….just get in there while we take him out of here. No one’s getting hurt. No one is dead. Let us get out of here. Ok.” He ushered them into the closet and locked the door.

“We need to talk.” Steve tersely whispered as he approached Bucky who turned away.

“No! No more walking away!” Steve growled as he cut him off.

“Get out of my way,” Bucky growled back.

“Boys. Let’s move this argument elsewhere.” Natasha, ever the voice of reason, as she pointed at the closet door.

“Fine. This way.” Bucky led them towards a small door at the far side of the office; he put his fist through it and yanked it open.

“Where the hell are we going?” Steve demanded.

“To the underground.”

They followed Bucky down a rusty spiral staircase that ended in a damp and musty basement. He made his way to an old wooden shelving unit that moved easily aside to reveal an entrance. He stepped through.

“Wait.” Steve grabbed at Bucky’s arm. “Give me five minutes. Don’t you even care why we intervened?”

Bucky looked at him with curiosity. “The mission is compromised. The guards were early; the van with the soldiers….they tried to use the words, tried to trigger me; this one knew I was coming. I could see it in her eyes.”

“You’re pretty calm about this Barnes,” Sam remarked.

“Nothin’ new.” Bucky sighed and started down the dimly lit corridor.

Steve grabbed his arm again. “Buck. It’s...worse than that. Someone cut in on the comms, told us they’re after you. Dared me to keep you safe.”

“Well, you’ve got your job cut out for you then, pal.” He took a few more steps then paused to call over his shoulder. “Are you coming? Or are you just going to stand there and watch me walk away yet again?”

“Stop running away from me.” Steve shot back.

Bucky turned to face him but didn’t close the space. “I’m not running away from you. I keep moving forward because I have to; I have no choice. There’s a horde of people after me, that’s who I’m running from. Not you.”

  
Steve caught up with him. “You went back into cryo, you could’ve stayed with me. You didn’t.”

Bucky could hear the hurt in his voice. “Stevie...the horde after me; the worst one is me; my ghosts, that fucking Voice in my head. I was tired, afraid. I couldn’t see another way out except to sleep." He lowered his voice "It wasn’t about leaving you; I never want to leave you." 

Steve stepped closer to bump his shoulder against Bucky’s and sighed “But things are different now. Right? The voices aren’t as bad. Things are better.”

Bucky shrugged “Yeah. The ghosts are quieter, nightmares are better. I can actually carry on a conversation with Romanova for more than five minutes.”

“Speaking of voices." He dug around in a pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a crumpled envelope and tore it open. “Why the hell didn’t you make me take that water bottle?” He smirked and knocked back the medications dry.

Steve huffed. "Jerk." Then looked at him closely. "Maybe it's time we run...together." 

“Together? You and me? Or all four of us? I dunno...Wilson? I don’t think I can go on the run with him.” Bucky groaned and whispered “Let’s not tell him. Ok?”

“Not tell me what?” Sam interjected as they continued down the corridor.

“We’re going on the run without you.” Natasha quipped, then added

“Hey, Barnes, who knew you had THAT in you!” She pointed back towards the stairs.

“Right, well speaking of that, what the hell was that?” Steve’s voice was pitched a little higher than usual.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky groused.

“That, Barnes...he’s talking about THAT.” Natasha squeezed between them in a rather intrusive way then sauntered ahead.

Sam chimed in “What are you talking about, what did I miss?”

“That….absolutely filthy kiss, pal,” Steve whispered as he stepped in front of Bucky to stop him.

“Oh. That. You really think that was filthy?” Bucky sounded genuinely surprised, even innocent.

“I missed a filthy kiss? Shit.” Sam mumbled.

“It was,” Steve added sternly.

“Ok...sorry.” Bucky feigned contrition then added. “Too bad.” He leaned his chest against Steve’s and brushed his lips across his ear “That’s just a little piece of what I plan on doing to you.”

Steve smiled “Really? Pal.”

“You better hold that thought for later Barnes.” Natasha interrupted. “We are not alone.”

 


	21. Redemption Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Readers! I thought I'd let you know that I wrote a short piece about one night in the life of the Winter Soldier. It is a stand alone story and grew from the chapter in this story where Bucky draws the dogs away from their owner in the park. Sometimes the Soldier Remembers. Fair warning though it is written in a different style and has a sad encounter but also a good deed. Thanks so much, your readership and feedback are much appreciated!

“Are you out of your mind interfering?” Sharon hissed.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” She paced behind their temporary command post; glancing at Fury’s back as he shouted directions at the emergency extraction team.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit, stay out of this operation.”

“I told you I’d set this up for you to catch him. I did that. Your people seriously underestimated him.”

“What kind of juvenile taunting was that anyway? You’re supposed to be discreet.” She paused from her whispered tirade long enough to let her contact’s words sink in.

“It wasn’t you?”

She heard Fury call her name in her earpiece.

“I can’t do this right now. I have to go. Get your shit together. We’ll talk when I can.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

They retreated down a rusted metal ladder into one of the abandoned trolley lines that snake beneath the city. A dozen of Ellingwood’s soldiers followed them. Between the shield, Nat’s stun disks and a few well placed punches they kept the gunfire to a minimum. Bucky knew how it would go. Tag the target, get below ground, and work as quickly as possible until he was caught, or made it to the end of the maze.

A tangential image of a rat came to mind.

He factored in his own pace and plan but wrangling a whole team on his road to redemption was another matter.

The ring of the shield rebounding off the stone surface grated on his nerves in the confined space.

“Shit that thing is loud down here.” He grumbled as he quietly dispatched the next to last soldier then watched, smirking as Sam struggled to choke out the last one.

Steve caught the rebounding shield, “You, are just jealous.” He strolled past Bucky and patted him on back, just low enough to nearly count as a pat on the ass, but not quite.

Bucky stared after him.

“You gonna just stand there staring?” Steve shot back over his shoulder.

Bucky shook himself out of his surprise and picked up a semi-automatic rifle from one of the soldiers before stalking down the fractured tracks.

 _“Changed your mind about killing_?”

“Changed your mind about things?” Steve’s echo of the Voice’s question made him stumble.

“No. It’s just in case.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Steve, are we sure he knows what he’s looking for?” Sam’s whispered concern rang a bit too loudly in the tunnel.

“I trust him, Sam. We’re good here.” Steve was leaning against the curved wall of the tunnel; he answered so Bucky could hear him.

Natasha placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered “Maybe we should get out of here. It’s been hours, Fury will pull out before dawn.”

“Nat we can’t do that, not yet.”

“Look at him, Steve.”

He didn’t have to turn towards Bucky, he’d been staring at him for the past three hours as they followed him down tracks and alleys; back again, prying open doors to dead ends. “I get it, he’s confused, he’s talking to himself. I see it.”

Bucky was kneeling in the dirt; under a dingy light bulb; using his finger to draw maps then erase them repeatedly. “One...two...three.” He pointed to three squares in the dirt. “I know they’re here. It wasn’t that long ago.” He muttered.

Steve’s own anxiety was being fed by the image of Bucky’s intense focus on the dirt drawings; counting to three and six. He knelt next to him, sliding an arm across his shoulders “Hey pal, maybe they moved it’s been awhile right?”

“No, they didn’t move. The people I tagged, they’re still here so this is still here. I just can’t remember.” He erased the dirt map with a pressured swipe.

“It’s ok. You’re tired we can try again.” Steve slipped his hand to his cheek. “Come on, Buck, let’s go home.”

“No. Please, give me a few more minutes.” He muttered anxiously.

“Barnes, the only thing down here are rats. Not the Hydra kind, the real ones.” Sam called to them from atop a pile of discarded brick pavers.

Natasha knelt to Bucky’s left and laid a hand on his back. “Listen we have a mole leaking your location; someone hijacked the comms.” Her hand drifted to his neck, “You’re exhausted.” Her fingers stroked his hair. “You’re talking to yourself or that voice in your head, it’s time to call it quits down here.”

One heartbeat later Bucky's metal hand slammed against her chest, he pushed up from his knees, his weight lifted her off the ground and drove her back to pin her against the wall. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Natasha was caught off-guard but found her reflexes within seconds to jam her first in his groin to stun him. Steve's begging voice “Don’t Nat.”  Was all that came between her and a quivering raging mess.

“Buck!” Steve wrapped an arm around his neck and a hand over his metal elbow, the insistent tug working to drag him away from her. “Let go, it’s ok let her go.”

“Barnes what the hell!” Sam shoved a shoulder into him, driving his body between them. 

Steve's words and pressure cut through his anger enough to let himself be dragged across the tunnel. Bucky struggled against the restraints of his hands then relented to let himself be pinned to the wall by the weight of his body.

“Ok, that’s it. Enough. We’re done down here!” Sam shouted as he hovered over Natasha.

"What the hell just happened?” Steve searched his face but their eyes wouldn't connect. “We can’t keep going like this.”

Bucky panted as his rage subsided. He could see Steve again, feel the reassuring warmth of his hands pressed firmly on his chest. His touch was the only one he wanted. Her touch sent his already splintering thoughts into a whirlwind of chaos. The mission with all of the guilt attached, the trigger words, that damn strobe light invoking Stark’s mother, the press of humanity. The overwhelming heat of it all stole his thoughts and stifled his breath.

Now his utter failure to find the Hydra underground pushed the flush of embarrassment across his skin.

 _“Maybe you really are crazy._ ”

“Please talk to me, what just happened here?” 

“I - I don’t know.”

Steve moved closer, his hands still on his chest, his words close and quiet. He smelled of soap and sweat in a long-familiar scent that hurtled Bucky's thoughts back seventy years to the two of them lying close, skin to skin on a hot summer's night. Bucky wanted to drown in that scent. He wrapped his arms around his waist and dragged him close against his body, hooking a leg around Steve’s to tug him tight between his legs. Pulling the smell of him closer to drag in a long breath and lodge that comforting, overwhelming scent deep into his memory. It made him feel safe.

“Buck? Are you ok?” Steve asked the question but already knew the answer. Bucky wasn't ok in so many ways, but this moment right now, this embrace, was the only thing that made sense to Steve. He understood it. He wanted it. His hand slipped into his hair, "I got you," He whispered. Steve let the pull of Bucky's hands, the insistent tug of his leg, bring him in so close he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his chest. A soft moan vibrated against his neck, taking his awareness of his surroundings. He hitched a breath when Bucky's tongue slipped across his skin, the heat of that contact chased down his body and settled between them in that close and pressing space where their hips were connected. Steve let go of his logical, controlled sense of self and stifled a breathy moan when Bucky's teeth bit sharply into his neck. A fleeting thought about poor timing was followed by, "Can’t stop this, don’t want to.” He tugged fingers through Bucky’s hair to lift his face towards him and brought their mouths together in an open-mouthed, all-in, unapologetic kiss. 

Somewhere in the background, Sam groaned “Give me a break.”

Steve licked into Bucky's mouth, not so carefully seeking permission, his fingers dug deep into his hair. The tight grip of the metal fingers wrapped around his ass, pulling his cock hard against his hips nearly lifting him from the ground. It hurt in a way that only made him want it more. He drove his knee deeper between Bucky's legs, forcing them apart, opening him to Steve's unconscious rhythmic push. 

Bucky let that kiss happen, more than letting it, he invited it, fully and completely. The taste of Steve's mouth overrode all of his obsessive-compulsive thoughts in that moment, he only wanted to taste more of him. Every inch of him. The feel of his tongue raking across Steve's face and lips, the sharp sensation of his teeth nipping at his jaw pulled a mewling noise from him that he didn't even recognize as his own sounds. He only knew the sounds seemed to drive Steve's cock to fill and press harder on his own, and he was all good with that. 

Bucky was beyond hungry for this moment, he was starved for Steve's touch. It didn’t matter that his cock barely responded. His half-lidded eyes caught the shadow of his ghosts staring wide-eyed at his wanton display. He constantly tripped over his guilt no matter what he did. The only safe place, ever, was with Steve.

“Don’t let go of me.” He choked out the words when their mouths parted. The groaned response sent a shivering twitch through his belly. He hooked his leg higher on Steve’s thigh, determined to remain utterly attached for as long as possible. The heat of the contact spread like a fire through his body.

“Ok.” Steve huffed as he tried to pull out of their kiss. “Wait.” He dove back in to push his tongue deeper into Bucky’s mouth. “Hold on.” He moaned as Bucky sucked at his neck. “Wow...ok.” Steve grabbed his hips and thrust his own rhythmically against Bucky's. "We have to stop.” He managed to pull his hands off and plant them on the wall inches from Bucky’s waist. Their panting slowly dissipated as Bucky rested his head against Steve’s shoulder. He struggled to regain some semblance of self-control.

“Bravo!” Sam called as he clapped from the paver pile where he and Natasha had retreated.

“Not really.” Natasha stood up. “Are the two of you done? I think we deserve an explanation if not an apology.”

Steve pulled away from Bucky far enough to let air between them. Metal fingers looped into his belt. “Sorry, not sure what got into me-us.” He couldn’t look at him. Bucky’s eyes were huge - pupils dark and wild, he was so not done with Steve. And he knew it. If their eyes connected, it’d be over. He’d drag them both into an alcove and fuck him right there in the tunnels with Sam and Natasha waiting. He didn’t need to see the hunger in Bucky’s eyes to know they were thinking the same thing. He could feel the pulsing crush of metal fingers digging into his hip.

“I’m not wrong.” Bucky rasped against his neck. “Give me a chance come with me a little further if I’m wrong we can go home.”

Steve pushed the hair from his face and stared at him for a long minute.

“One more try.”

Bucky pushed away from Steve and took a step towards Natasha and Sam. “I don’t expect you to stay, you should go.”

“Is that an apology or are you trying to get rid of us.” Natasha frowned.

“I’m sorry. You should go. It’s not safe here.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Munitions storage, data storage, people storage. Great.” Sam recounted Bucky’s stammered recollections of what they were after.

“Why did they stay?” Bucky whispered to Steve as they methodically searched the last offshoot of passages. “I tried to hurt her? He hates me even more now.”

“Listen, we’re a team that’s what teams do. Stick together.”

“Even when one’s an asshole?”

“You weren’t being an asshole but yes, even if you were.”

“Hey, what’s this?” Natasha called to them from an arched indentation along the main rail line. She pointed to a faint red squiggle buried deep under the black and blue graffiti letters spelling out ED WAS HERE. “You said the entrance was marked with a Hydra symbol. Does this qualify?”

Bucky struggled to look at her as he nodded.

“That looks like a concrete wall, not a doorway.” Sam sighed.

Steve ran his fingers along the crevices, he looked pointedly at Bucky and slammed the edge of the shield against the concrete. Nothing happened but the sound was hollow. The shield connected again and knocked chunks of stone to the ground. He frowned but didn't let his focus waver, he slammed the shield into the crevice again - the concrete moved.

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“This is why they want your memories,” Steve whispered.

The four of them stood in a cavernous room filled with crates of weapons of all designs. The far end of the room had a large metal doorway, a loading dock. Overhead were several small balconies.

“Where the hell are we?” Sam wondered as he crept along between the stacks.

“An old auditorium?” Natasha pointed at a faded sign over a chained exit door. HI…. Auditori...”

 _“So not crazy after all, pal._ ”

Bucky shivered visibly.

“You ok?” Steve was watching him closely now. Barely an arm's length away from him since the unfortunate encounter with Natasha.

He nodded and headed for a stack of crates.

“What’s the plan?” Steve watched him rip the cover open.

“Give me your phone. Now we document.” 

It didn’t take long for them to photograph the crates. Shipping data, serial numbers, all the identifiers for the weapons. Anything that could be used to disrupt the flow of Hydra’s gun-running operation.

“We’ll text these to Fury as soon as we’re above ground.” Natasha nodded to Steve when they had worked their way to the end of the room.

“Not Fury,” Bucky stated emphatically.

“Why not Fury?” Sam frowned.

“Can’t trust him.” Bucky headed back towards the covert entrance.

“Fury’s good he wouldn’t betray us.” Natasha protested.

“Not Fury he has them both. Can’t trust him.” He stalked towards their exit.

“Both?” Sam hung back as Steve and Natasha took their lead from Bucky.

“Sokolov and Carter.” Natasha clarified.“They're both with Fury.”

Bucky mumbled, “Who’s Sokolov?”

Steve shot him a concerning glance.

“I don’t get it….” Sam’s words were transformed into a moan by the roar of gunfire.

Natasha rolled against the wall under the nearest balcony.

Steve let the shield fly upwards towards an assailant. He caught it on the return as he ran for Sam, bullets pinging off the shield as he scrambled between the crates.

Natasha ran along the wall, whizzing sounds following her as she made her way towards an unchained doorway.

Bucky swung the rifle around his shoulder and stood his ground in the middle of the room. Dust flew up around his feet. A bullet bounced off his arm, he switched his stance.

 _“Four shooters, Soldier. All up high_.”

Bucky didn’t need the Voice to narrate. He knew how many, where they were and what weapons they were firing. “Got it.” He mumbled.

Steve had taken out one with the shield before making his way to cover Sam.

Natasha was choking out the second one on a balcony.

Bucky had taken out kneecaps on a third.

_“One more on your right.”_

He swung the rifle towards the last one, the man went down with a scream, his weapon firing wildly. Once the man fell, Bucky swung around to search for Steve. His shoulders dropped in relief when he saw him kneeling over Sam nestled between two large crates.

His steps towards them were interrupted by the searing pain that tore through his right thigh. He barely groaned as he looked down at the fresh wound.

" _That_ _bastard just shot you. This is what happens when you swear off killing people. They shoot you."_

He turned to face the last shooter writhing in pain but with it enough to keep firing. He stared down the threat, a burst of bullets ripped past his face. Bucky took aim as they pinged off his arm, he pulled the trigger once. The man fell to the floor, his shoulder would never be the same. Bucky glanced with indifference at the wound on his leg. Blood spilled freely, soaking his pant leg but he was still standing and the blood loss wasn't pulsing.

" _No major damage Soldier. We still have our arteries intact. Let's just walk it off."_

He allowed a faint head shake, to discourage the Voice as he crossed to assure himself that Steve was unharmed. 

Natasha crouched over Sam, “We need to get him out of here. More on the way.”

“Pressure, apply pressure.” Sam groaned as Steve pushed on his left side.

“You two cover us. I got him.” Bucky pushed Steve aside and waited for Natasha to move. He reached for Sam’s arm.

"Now wait a minute!" Sam started to protest.

Bucky ignored him and yanked him up over his shoulder in one sweeping move.

“I can help...” Steve protested.

“Yeah help by keeping the next wave off of us.” Bucky shot back over his shoulder as he strode towards their backdoor exit.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

They regrouped in one of the abandoned trolley stations. Bucky paced the tracks, ready for the inevitable fallout.

“Don’t dent my flight pack.” Sam directed Steve as Natasha applied pressure on the wound.

“We need to get him out of here, Steve.” She had her hands deep in Sam's belly.

“Agreed." Steve nodded and looked around for something to cover the wound. "As soon as we stabilize this enough to move him.” 

“I am not leaving without you. Not an option.” Sam protested too loudly.

The three of them argued about who was going, who was staying and how they’d get out.

_“So this is teamwork, Soldier? How have they stayed alive this long? No wonder you worked alone.”_

Bucky sighed. He hated it when the Voice was right about something.

“Ok. Here.” Bucky was standing over them, shirtless, extending the sweat-soaked black jersey he’d been wearing towards Steve. “Pressure. Leave the bird wings here. If he slows us down we leave him too.”

Sam waved off the sacrificed T-shirt, “You are not putting that stinking filthy sweat saturated thing on my open gaping wound!”

“Shut up!” Steve and Nat barked as Nat grabbed the offering before Barnes changed his mind.

Bucky pulled the Kevlar vest back on, threw the leather jacket on the flight pack and headed for the tracks. Steve stopped working on Sam to watch him prowl. "What is going on with him?"

"Winter." Sam groaned.

Steve sat back on his heels and kept his eyes on him. He took in the rolling stride, the fit of the black vest over his bare chest. He even caught himself admiring the glint of the metal arm and how it moved and flexed much like his flesh one. “Damn. He is not looking all that vulnerable right now, maybe we can find a private alcove down here anyway." He paused his thoughts and glanced at Nat and Sam, wondering if he'd said that out loud. They ignored him, he felt reassured but added to himself, "I am going to hell for thinking this."

“Steve? We ready? Stop staring at him. I get it he’s hot, but could you visually fuck him when we are not on a mission? Please?” Natasha struggled to pull Sam up. Steve tamped down his lust and reached for Sam's arm.

“Where to now?” Steve quizzed when they stumbled up to Bucky.

“Now we go find Ed. Ed Was Here. I saw that same paint down here; two more, that makes three. One, two, three.” His voice faded as he strode ahead of them.

“He seems better? Yes?” Sam whispered to Natasha.

“Better? Than what? Trying to kill me. Yeah. He’s better. Overall? He’s in assassin mode. Look at him.”

“So everything is relative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ED WAS HERE! A little inside joke. This is an homage to the gifted Ed Brubaker who in 2004 began writing for Marvel Comics and resurrected the long-dead character Bucky Barnes as "The Winter Soldier." When Ed was 12 he wrote a "fan fiction" alternate ending to the Captain America story that killed Bucky so dead he was never coming back. Fast forward a few years and he got to revive him for real! The series was a sales and critical success from its first issue. Brubaker continued on this series for eight full years, from November 2004 to October 2012. We Bucky lovers owe ED our heartfelt thanks!


	22. Redemption Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for coming along on this journey! Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome. <3

 

ED WAS HERE.

Bucky groaned as he pulled the rusted metal door. It moved slightly but not enough.

Steve reached around him “How ‘bout some help.” His hand was nearly on top of Bucky’s; he braced a foot on the wall as they pulled and grimaced together. The door screeched across the concrete and with a few jerking pulls was open enough for them to squeeze through.

“I got this,” Sam reassured as he settled on a makeshift seat of rusted trolley rails.

“First sign of trouble you fire a shot...we’ll come back.” Natasha patted him on the shoulder; then dropped a kiss on his head.

“Gonna be ok?” Steve squatted next to him.

“I’ll just slow you down in there. Got your six here.”

Bucky twitched at the six reference.

“What is it about numbers?” Steve whispered as they squeezed into the concrete passage upwards.

“Numbers?” Bucky mumbled. “What numbers?” He threw the rifle over his shoulder and scaled the metal ladder into the darkness above.

Natasha held her phone to light the first few rungs as Steve maneuvered to follow. It didn't take more than a few steps before he was plunged into the darkness. A monotonous hum grew with each tentative move forward. Bucky was nowhere to be seen, even in this confined space. A faint scraping noise came and went; a hint of labored breathing was overwhelmed by the drone from the heart of Hydra’s servers. Scorching dry air wrapped around him pulling out a flash of sweat. An unfamiliar rush of dizziness nearly took him down the ladder as his foot slipped and the shield clanged against the metal. His shoulder collided with the hot surface of the heat vents; he leaned against it and chided himself, “Ok, keep it together Rogers.”

He wiped at the sweat in his eyes “What’s taking him so long?”

“Wait...where is he?”

He held his breath, willing his heart to beat quieter so he could listen for the telltale sounds of Bucky’s breathing. “How could I lose him.” His knuckles rapped against the wall and the ladder; fingers burned on the vents in front of him; he waved his hand frantically into the blackness. Irrational panic began to build “I lost him.” He pushed himself up another rung and reached into the darkness. His hand slapped against a boot, slid up a leg; he tugged himself up to rest his head against a thigh.

Bucky’s foot slid across the rung towards the pull of Steve’s possessive grip.

 

He struggled with the forgotten trap door.

“ _It was a long time ago, Soldier, they probably put a_ _file cabinet_ _on top of it._ _”_

He frowned and snaked his free leg through the rungs to work with both hands.

“ _You’ll never get_ _out of this alive,_ _Soldier_ _._ _They know you’ve come for revenge._ _”_

“Not revenge.” He mumbled as he shoved upwards to break the frozen latch.

“ _Nothing but a screw-up,_ _you attacked the Widow, got the Birdman shot. You’re bleeding all over your buddy down there.”_

“Thanks. So helpful.” He tried to placate the Voice while the door refused to give to his efforts.

“ _You_ _r_ _stupid plan is going to get them all killed._ _Y_ _our final act will be to get Captain America_ _and his Secret Avengers_ _killed_ _.”_

Frustration reared up through his mind.

“ _Once again, Soldier you blew it. You’ll die or end up back in the chair without having sex with that….”_

Bucky slammed his fist into the wall and growled: “Don’t need your bullshit running commentary!”

“What? I didn’t say any….” Steve started to protest then, “That damn voice.” He dropped his head back against Bucky’s leg and groaned “When is this night going to be over?”

A rasped “Soon...and yes that Voice is a pain in my ass, too.” preceded a sudden rush of cold air; then a whispered “Got it,” that brought both of them some relief.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“I’ll stay here with the techs.” Sharon sighed. “We need to get the quinjet out of sight. It’s nearly dawn.”

Fury hovered over the computers. “Our last contact was five hours ago. Last known location was the dance club in the North End.”

She pointed at the computer screens, “All hell broke loose on the airwaves after that. Hydra’s deployed an army to go after them.”

“And we have no idea where they went after the dance club, is that correct?” Fury looked pointedly at her.

“Correct, Sir. No further contact. They shut down their comms; no trackers. No evidence that they’re still in the club.”

“This was supposed to be a controlled, covert operation, Carter. Simple in and out. He gave us workable strong intel. Now we have this shit show.”

“He went rogue, Sir. He didn’t follow the plan.”

“Actually he did follow the plan; we have six tagged individuals, five of which we can account for; one is missing. So overall a mission success. But….”

“Here we are. He’s dragged his team into some kind of revenge mission and threatens our operation.” Sharon hissed.

“Someone leaked his locations, our plan. Someone hijacked our communications link. Maybe they’ve gone to ground to protect themselves. Thoughts?” Fury leaned against the table and folded his arms.

“Ok, so we have a mole, clearly. I will get to the bottom of it. Right now we have bigger problems. The quinjet is sitting out in the open. Hydra’s roaming the streets. We need to protect ourselves or we’ll never be able to get them out.”

Fury trained a skeptical eye on her.

Sharon paced quickly towards the generators. “We’ll need to switch to these while the jet is gone.” Fury continued to silently assess her.

She turned to confront him “I’ve got this...I will find the mole; I will break through the layers of security around our hijacker; I will get them out.”

“You do that Carter. You do that.” He abruptly turned and headed for the quinjet. “I’ll be in touch.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Don’t you dare threaten me.” Sharon hissed at the caller. “I gave you what you wanted and then some. Now you’ve got all four of them. If they get away it’s on you.”

“How hard can it be to track down four people in an abandoned subway? You can’t handle that? Fine, one of them has a tracker….last known location….the old Scollay Square Under station. That’s it... I can’t do any more for you. Take care of it.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Thousands of tiny glowing bulbs bathed the room in a sea of cobalt blue interrupted by pinpoint white pools; like stars in the night sky was all Steve could think. The deafening hum of the servers was overridden by a radio playing at the far end of the room. The cold air dried his sweat-soaked neck too quickly. He glanced to his right, watching for Bucky’s signal to move forward through the long tight rows of server racks. Natasha emerged from the trap door to take up the center aisle approach. She slipped in a pool of blood.

Bucky nodded and pointed towards their destination; the secured computer control room; they silently moved forward. The cool air was doing nothing for the throbbing in his thigh although it may have helped the vision wavering headache he had going. “No fucking water. I swear I’ll never make fun of him again the next time he mothers me.” He shot a quick glance between the racks towards Natasha, hoping he hadn’t said that out loud. She was busy corralling a skinny girl working on a server; she made a quick shushing motion and pointed to the floor. The girl was obedient.

A sudden onset of flashing red lights signaled that their intrusion was noted. “Took them long enough,” Natasha muttered as they faced the reinforced wall of glass separating them from the main terminals. A revolving glass door, a mantrap enclosure, was the only access and it was electronically shut tight.

“We could destroy these racks, right?” Steve offered as they assessed how difficult it would be to get into the room.

“No. We need to get in there.” Bucky put all of his strength and weight into pushing on the door with no success.

“The data is probably backed up somewhere. Destroying these will only slow them down, it doesn't stop them.” Natasha dragged the girl forward.

“You can get us in there, right?” Natasha pointed to the room.

The girl shook her head ‘No.’ But had a change of heart when a bloody, sweaty Barnes stalked up to her.

 

“What’s the plan, Buck?” He let the warmth from Steve’s hand on his flesh arm ground him.

“Makin’ it up as I go.” He muttered and stared at the screens.

“That’s reassuring.” Natasha tugged at Steve; interrupting his growing constant contact with Barnes.

“Steve...he’s bleeding. He must have been shot.” She whispered and nodded at the oozing wound.

“Damn it.”

“I don’t want to know how you got his thigh wound blood on your face.” She scraped at the evidence.

  
“I’ll find a bandage.” Steve deflected.

“No time. They’ll be here soon.” Bucky muttered. “Romanova, can you send a message from here?”

“Easier with a password.”

Steve beckoned the girl forward. “Password, please.”

She hesitated.

“My friend is crankier than usual, plus he’s been shot.” He pointed at a scowling Bucky. “Rethink your answer.”

A few seconds later, Natasha was connected to the outside world. “Now what Barnes?”

“Send the pictures of the guns and this location, and anything you can.”

“Send it where? You said not to Fury.”

Bucky looked uncertain then, “Send it to Stark.”

“What?” Steve looked surprised.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha looked at them.

“You trust him, don’t you? You sent him the phone if he needed you...so would you trust him with all this?” Bucky stared intently at Steve who took a deep breath and answered hesitantly,

“I trust him with the data, Buck.”

“But?”

“I don’t trust him with you. I think he was the …..”Steve shook his head. “I don’t know what he’d do to you.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to turn me over….just the data.”

“He’ll do the right thing with this information.” Natasha tried to reassure both of them.

The muffled sound of a gunshot broke into the debate about Stark’s ability to do the right thing. Natasha and Bucky raised their weapons, Steve readied the shield.

“Sam.” Natasha looked at Steve. “I’ll go check on him.”

Steve countered “No. You need to send out that intel. Keep working on that. I’ll go.”

“I got him.” Bucky headed for the revolving door.

“No...stay here...tell her what you want sent out. I’ll go.” Steve pulled him to a corner out of sight of Natasha and the girl. “Listen, don’t do anything stupid.”

You’re taking all the stu...” Steve stopped the comment with his mouth firmly planted on Bucky’s; his tongue teased along his lips, flirted with his tongue. Bucky stiffened at first, it was all so out of context; but the feel of Steve’s mouth over his; the wetness on his lips pushed past his uncertainty. The threat of gunfire only underscored the urgency; he opened his mouth to take all he could get from Steve. He was hungry to take the taste of him into the next few moments, whatever that might bring. It ended with a sigh and the unspoken promise of more.

Bucky clung to Steve’s hips and rasped against his cheek “Don’t let go of me.”  
“Never pal, never.” Steve ran a thumb across his cheek and headed towards the door. He called back “Send it to Stark,” as he tossed his phone to Bucky and pushed through the mantrap to help Sam.

Natasha worked furiously to download the pictures and connect with Stark’s phone through the computer. “Come on, come on. Answer it.” She muttered as it kept ringing then went to voicemail. “Such an asshole.” She muttered and dialed again. “Pick up, Hydra calling.” It went to voicemail again. She dialed directly on her phone. “Barely any battery left….don't’ fail now.”

Bucky stalked back and forth by the door to the hallway listening for the impending onslaught of Hydra soldiers. “They’re coming.” He pressed his ear against the door.

“Nothing yet no answer, he’s such a jerk.” Natasha huffed and dialed again. This time on Steve’s phone.

“I’ll hold them off.” Bucky’s hand went to the doorknob.

“Barnes, no! Stay here.” He was out the door before she could finish.

“Shit --- shit---Well, hello, Tony. I'd love to chit chat but I have some very important data to drop in your lap with the expectation that you’ll do right by the world.” Natasha hit send.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve slid down the ladder and nearly landed on top of Sam.

“They came from out of nowhere. I swear it was like they knew exactly where we were.” He whispered. The rusted metal door was still partly open letting the swaying beams of flashlights fill the tiny space.

“How many?” Steve peered out at the approaching group.

“A dozen?”

“You up for this?”

“Any better up there?”

“Marginal, soon to be just as bad.”

Sam groaned, “Well, let’s get this over with.” 

Steve kicked open the metal door and somersaulted into the tunnel, using the shield as a springboard. A burst of surprised fire followed his rolling form. Sam followed him, skirting along the wall to dive behind the discarded trolley rails.

“Captain America so good to see you.” A woman’s voice cut through the ringing aftermath of the first round of shooting. “My colleagues tell me your old friend is not far away. I hear the two of you are...inseparable.”

Steve landed in a crouch, shield up, braced for more fire; not braced for the voice of Ellingwood, Bucky’s last target.

“His capture is inevitable; it’s taking place as we speak. We outnumber your little band of Secret Avengers.” She added air quotes around secret and laughed. “Save us all time, energy and bullets and give up.”

He straightened and faced her, keeping the shield between them. “We’ve dealt with worse odds than this. I’m afraid we’re going to disappoint you.”

“Fine. Perhaps the next few minutes will change your mind.” She stepped to one side to allow her soldiers a clear path towards him. He braced behind the shield.

The distinct sound of prolonged gunfire wafted down the shaft from the server room. Ellingwood laughed. “That would be your soldier being taken down. A rogue operative getting his retribution for defying his keepers. What a fool, thinking he could confront Hydra.”

Steve’s faith in Bucky wasn’t shaken. His faith in himself was questionable. “I left him; he said ‘don’t let go of me and I left him again.” He didn’t let his self-doubt show.

“I have complete faith in his ability to destroy you.”

“Soon he’ll be home, not that lovely yellow farmhouse.” She smiled with sarcasm. “How romantic, the two of you.” She paced up the tunnel, closer to Steve, past Sam’s hidden position. “Home with us where he belongs.”

A rollicking explosion shook the ceiling and dumped dust and stone onto their standoff. “They have orders to take him alive if that’s any consolation. He’s still a valuable asset.”

Steve’s jaw tensed unconsciously; he sighed, “Entirely too much talking going on here, Sam.”

He stepped back and hurled the shield towards the front line of soldiers. He caught it on the rebound as he charged forward with a spinning roundhouse kick to the closest target; he connected with a throat punch to the next; then slammed the shield into a cluster of three soldiers too green to know enough to spread out.

The soldiers opened fire in the midst of his charge. Bullets whipped around him, pinging off the shield, searing past his hearing, the dust and smoke churned up in the stifling space was choking. The unrelenting sound of gunfire off in the distance drove his urgency; he barely felt the bullet rip through his left arm. He shook off the pain; somewhere far above him, Bucky was being taken.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky stood his ground in the hallway waiting for the pack to round the corner. He calmly checked his ammunition. The rifle had a few rounds left; the pistol had one clip. He thought about tossing the useless laser gun but decided it might come in handy as a scare tactic.

“ _Oh, and one knife, Soldier. You stupidly dropped the other one.”_

“You are so fucking helpful.”

He felt a bit naked with only two guns and one knife; a slight wave of nostalgia for the days of four guns and six knives came and went.

He sighed as the soldiers came into view. He counted them unconsciously.

  
“ _Six. A good sign.”_

They stared at one another for a few seconds before someone in the back of the crowd yelled: “Take him.” They opened fire. He turned and dropped to one knee; blocking his head with his arm. The bullets slammed into the metal and tore at the kevlar vest with so much force his knee was driven back, sliding across the floor slick with his still oozing blood. He swung the rifle up towards his targets and sprayed blindly across their legs until the clip was empty. The sound of moans and dropped weapons cued him to advance. He used the empty weapon as a club against the closest soldier; grabbed at the throat of another and tossed him down the hall; three were writhing in pain on the floor at his feet.

“ _One left, Soldier._ ”

The last one stood silently smiling. He appeared uninjured. Bucky looked impassively at him, assessing how much of a threat he’d be; how to make the next best move.

“Fuck...he’s big.” Bucky kept his sentiment hidden as he took in the size and scope of his opponent.

“We’ve heard a lot about the Winter Soldier. We’re kinda sick of hearing about you. Not sure why we want you back but, I’m here to collect Hydra’s property.” The man stopped smiling.

He moved faster than his large and muscled body would have implied. Bucky barely had time to pull the knife before the man slammed into him. He dropped a metal elbow onto the man’s upper back; drove a knee into his chest; stabbed at his arm. The man brushed it all off, barely grunting at the knee. A Kevlar mesh deflected the knife.

Bucky stepped to the right, locked the metal fingers into the hem of the Kevlar vest and spun the man past him; breaking the hold he had on his waist. They separated and faced one another again. Bucky stalked forward straight for him, the knife was low in his right hand; he drove his metal fist into the man’s chest, a left hook shook Bucky’s vision but not his forward motion. The knife slashed upwards, drawing blood but not a cut that would stop the attack. He hammered again into the man’s chest, then face, his knee connected with the man’s belly again; his relentless drive pushed the man back down the corridor. He slashed again; slicing open a forearm; he thrust towards his groin but a well-placed block knocked Bucky’s hand aside.

A surge of pain in his thigh broke his mindless attack; his opponent had seen the wound, used it against him; his fingers were pressing deeper; twisting into the wound; distracting him from making the final push to end the fight. Bucky growled as he wrapped his fist around the man’s Kevlar protected neck.

He felt his right foot get pulled from under him; the man was lifting his leg with his thumb dug deep into the wound. The searing pain in his leg wasn’t enough to take him off the task, but the knife that slipped under his own vest was.

Bucky landed on his back; the man looked even bigger from that vantage point as he towered over him.

He kicked up, catching him in the groin; a blow that would have been effective except for the damned jock cup.

“ _He thought of everything, Soldier.”_

“Fuck you,” Bucky swore at both of them.

Bucky quickly rolled to his knees and staggered up; a hand snagged his hair; he flinched as his head was driven into the wall and held there. A trickle of blood fell in his eye blurring his already wavering vision. A knee pressed against his ass; pinning him to the wall. He braced his hands and pushed; fighting to escape the man’s considerable weight holding him in place.

“Needless to say, Hydra’s been working on the serum.” The man whispered close to Bucky’s ear.

He grimaced when a fist pounded into his right kidney.

“Let’s make you a little more pliable, shall we.”

Bucky panted with the pain searing across his back with each blow.

“Kidneys are such an amazing organ.”

Another hit to the kidney brought a renewed struggle; he swung his right hand back, stabbing blindly at the man.

“Just the right amount of damage and you’re out of it for a few hours, maybe days, piss some blood and then you’re good to go. No one knows the difference.”

One more hit to his kidney left Bucky’s will to fight overwhelmed by the searing pain; he dropped his hands and let the man press his full weight against his body; didn't protest the whispered breath on his cheek.

“You’ll never talk, you never did, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Bucky went limp as the man’s hand slipped around his waist, his mind disconnecting from the sensation of fingers struggling with the front of his pant, the feel of those fingers hot on the skin of his belly.

“ _Not again, Soldier. Don’t let this happen again.”_

“No. Get off me.” Bucky choked out as he regained some of his senses and drove a foot down on the man’s arch; threw an elbow back; and desperately fought against his assailant’s overwhelming hold on him. He turned the blade in his right hand and swung back against the man’s thigh; digging in repeatedly, stabbing, scraping, trying to cut into a tender spot; an artery; anything to slow the attack.

The knee in his back jerked into him again, a hand squeezed hard at his kidney; pulling a mournful groan from him and sending blinding pain across his back and into his groin. He could hear his ragged gulping breaths but the screaming was all kept tightly inside his head.

The man pulled his hand away from Bucky’s skin and tugged at his own pants; he saw the jock cup land on the floor near their feet. Panic filled his belly with the introduction of a growing erection pressed against his ass.

The man’s hand went back to Bucky’s skin; slow strokes at first, then rough; he tore at his pants, tugging to pull them down out of his way.

“No...no...no!” His metal elbow shot back against the man’s ribs, once, twice, three times; he twisted to bring his arm between them behind his back; the fingers searching, reaching and finally connecting. He locked them down on the man’s cock. At first, his assailant moaned in a perverse kind of pleasure at the firm cold touch; he groaned as the fingers tightened, but the final locked down grip brought screams of pain as his organ burst in Bucky’s metal fist.

 

He sat propped against the wall staring at the moaning, bleeding asshole that tried to take him. His breath was ragged, a prolonged shudder kept him from getting to his feet. If he wasn’t so dehydrated he might’ve had tears for the whole event. The sound of an elevator around the corner brought him back to his wits. He poked dispassionately at the wound in his side; glanced at the bloody knife still in his hand. A quick thought about Romanova spurred him into motion. He crawled over the man’s legs to straddle his thighs. “Is this what you wanted?” He spit out as he pressed his hips against the man’s destroyed appendage; it drew a loud wailing moan from the man. He leaned over him and let the blood and sweat from his head drip into the man's eyes. ”I gutted the last bastard that did this.” He pressed his bloody metal fingers on the man’s cheek. “You. Get to live.”

Bucky staggered to his feet. Grabbed an Uzi and a backpack from one of the wounded. He leaned against the computer room door.

“I’m no one’s fucking property, asshole.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sam wrapped his arm around the neck of Ellingwood. “Hold your fire! I have no problem killing her.” His gun was tucked neatly behind her ear.

The soldiers slowly stopped their attack; Steve backed towards Sam and his captive.

“Tell them to drop their weapons and get the hell out of here.” Sam shook her to emphasize his demands.

“Don’t be a fool….”

Steve slammed the shield into the wall next to her head. “Enough. Tell them to drop their weapons and go.” The sounds of the battle in the server room had stopped. No one came down the ladder. No sounds of Bucky’s swearing; no stun discs; no hint of their survival.

“Fine. Drop your weapons and back off. Now.” Ellingwood barked. Her soldiers quickly obeyed but as they withdrew another explosion rocked the tunnel. The ground shook beneath their feet; a rumbled complaint from the walls and ceiling caused them all to scatter as dust churned up around them, chunks of the ceiling rained down.

“It’s collapsing!.” Sam barely got the words out when the ceiling fell down around Steve.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Romanova. Open the door.” Bucky rasped a whisper.

He stumbled onto his hands and knees as he fell through the doorway dragging a backpack and an Uzi.

“Did you get through?” He pawed through the pack and sucked down most of a bottle of water before glancing at her and offering the last sip.

She took it. “He’s got most of it. A few more minutes and we should be good.”

“Doubt we have a few minutes.” He staggered to his feet and headed for a large cabinet to push in front of the door.

She watched the blood streaks on the floor. “You got shot again?”

“Nope.” He groaned as the cabinet settled into place. “Stabbed.”

“Did you get hurt this much as Winter?” She asked as she checked the download progress.

He stared at the back of her head. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“You should bandage those wounds.”

“I got a mother, actually I got at least two maybe three. Well, my real mom is gone. And that Widow just called herself my mom and Steve, well, he’s like a mom...” Bucky’s words trailed off as he realized how she was looking at him.

He bit his lip “I usually save the loose and tangential shit for myself and Steve, sorry.” He busied himself with the pilfered backpack. “Oh. Look. C4.”

Natasha ordered, “Turn your back.”

Bucky's narrow-eyed glance full of suspicion, “What?”

“Turn your back.” She was unzipping her uniform top.

“Not you too?” He took a step away from her.

“What are you talking about? I’ve got a T-shirt….for a bandage.”

“ _You’re an idiot, Soldier.”_

“Right.” He turned around.

 

Natasha stood in front of Bucky, “Ok. Ready for this. I am looking away as much as possible. I am touching as little as I can.”

“Ok, ok. Do it," a gritted teeth, eyes scrunched shut resolve.

Natasha wrapped her arms around him, pulling the ripped T-shirt tight and tying a knot over the stab wound before stepping away, hands up, to signal she was done.

He threw on the vest; grabbed the backpack and Uzi to stalk towards the revolving door. “Is it done downloading?”

She hovered over the terminal. “Looks like it.”

“Great let’s get the hell out of ….” An explosion blew them and the barricade nearly across the room.

Bucky slammed into the wall of glass that held up despite the force of an explosion and his body. He blinked to clear the fog of the hit but struggled with the smoke and darkness. Red alarm lights gave a counterpoint to the white pools of emergency lights. He scrambled to his feet and glanced at the door. “Not yet.” He told himself.

  
“Romanova?”

He stumbled over the debris; every breath brought coughing as his lungs screeched at the smoke bomb they tossed in with the explosion. He tripped over something soft, he slapped next to his foot and found her. “Romanova!” she moaned but didn’t move.

His attention was drawn to a sobbing sound, the computer girl was still there. He pushed her into a corner and shoved a desk over her “Stay there...until there’s no more shooting...then run like hell.”

He crawled back to Romanova. “Hey, come on, wake up. Gotta go.” He poked a metal finger into her cheek; then her side, then her shoulder. “Gotta go...let’s get up...Widow...come on.”

“What the hell Barnes.” She choked on the air.

“Oh good. We have got to go.” He pulled her up by her arm and dragged her towards the revolving door. “Get out of here, go on.”

She choked, “No. Not without you.”

“Nooo. You go. I’ll go next.” Bucky pushed her with one finger.

“Barnes, stop arguing. There’s no more time.” She reached to grab his vest and yanked him inside the mantrap. It shut tight behind him.

“Push the latch. Open it.” Bucky's voice scratched, panic taking it an octave higher.

“I am pushing; I am trying to open it.” Romanova's desperate pressing on the buttons; pushing on the latch all to no avail.

Bucky leaned on the door hovering over her, “Damn it. I told you to go without me.”

She looked up at him, “That wouldn’t change things. It still wouldn’t open, you’d just be stuck in there with that swarm of soldiers that just waltzed in.”

  
They turned to face a dozen soldiers staring at them stuck in the revolving door trap. One man walked forward; blood and guts clinging to his crotch.

“You look like a fucking gerbil in there, Soldier.” The man still had a sense of humor despite his recent loss.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered.

Natasha asked, “Friend of yours?” 

“No. I bit his dick off.”

Natasha ducked under his arm and looked closely at his face, a look of almost horror but maybe admiration. “Shut up. You did not.”

“I did too.” Bucky shouted, his words ringing in the mantrap but heard by the room of men, "Did your fearless leader tell you that guys. He wanted me to suck his dick, so I bit it off, then I crushed it in my fucking metal vibranium hand.” He slapped his bloody hand on the glass in front of the man’s face and smirked.

Natasha patted him on the chest, a near hug as she directed her proud parent smile towards the would-be assailant.

He glanced down at her and mumbled. “You’re touching me.”

“Ok Barnes. Do not lose your shit over this. I know I’m touching you but that was beyond great even if you didn’t do it.”

The dickless guy knocked on the glass again. “Soldier? Hello. How about some attention here.”

  
Bucky gave him the best cold Winter stare he could muster given their present circumstances.

The man growled, “I think it’s time to put you down. No more wasting time and energy on you.”

He put the gun to the glass directly across from Bucky’s forehead.

“Barnes?” Natasha stopped smiling. “Duck when you see him blink.”

A whispered shaking, “So he can try again. No.”

Her pressured turn to pound on the lock, fingers scrambling with keypad, forcing the latch, a stun disc sizzling an echo in the chamber. Nothing moving the door.

Her hissed begging, “Come on Barnes, use that arm. Hit it. I’ve seen what you can do.”

Bucky stood staring at the man; waiting for the end.

“ _You’re such a moron, Soldier. Here we are again facing death and you still have regrets.”_

“No regrets. He knows how I feel, I know how he feels. That’s good enough.”

“What?” Natasha wasn’t as aware of the conversations with the Voice as Steve was. She couldn’t weave in her part of the three-way conversation. Steve was getting better at it; learning how to carry on a dialogue with Bucky and his Voice.

“You ready Soldier? You wanna kiss her or something before I blow your brains out?”

“Barnes this is not ok let's push together.”

“Ssshh. It’s ok.” He whispered but never took his eyes from the man. “Maybe it’s just time.”

“No...no..Watch his eyes. You know we can tell when someone’s going to pull the trigger. We can duck; we can fight him.”

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m tired Alena, it’s okay, it's over." Seconds passed before his murmured, "I’ll miss Steve.”

“I’m not her, I’m not him, Barnes," She wrapped her arms around him. "But I’ll hold you the way they would have." She buried her head against his chest.

He let his arms fall around her and whispered, “Tell him I said, womb to tomb, pal.” He never looked away.

The last thing they heard was the explosion of a bullet hitting the glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Underground is a made up name for a real place. The maze of old trolley tunnels and train stations are really there and still accessible to the Boston T workers. Essex Street Station and Scolley Square Station are no longer in use but are part of the old system that the new one is built over. If you ride the T you can look out the windows of the trolley and see some of the old tunnels and tiny doorways referenced in this section of the story! <3


	23. The Shield

Bucky never closed his eyes. He’d stared down imminent death a thousand times before this asshole. He didn’t even regret not killing the guy for trying to steal that piece of his soul he had found again with Steve. The flashing lights fell away from his vision, the alarms became muffled, a slender trigger finger squeezed in exaggerated slowness.

“ _He has blue eyes, just like your Steve.”_

Romanova’s hands wrapped around his waist; her head fell against his chest. There was a flash of memory to a younger version of her, almost innocent, staring at the Soldier behind the bars of a cell.

Fingers dug in below the vest; the contact with his skin, the feel of her body against his, recalled a similar embrace with a lover from the Red Room. The final image that engulfed his entire being as that trigger engaged was a blond-headed boy with bright blue eyes fiercely fighting for what he believed in.

The bullet hurtled towards the glass; Bucky sucked in his breath without thinking.

He flinched. More from the way Romanova jerked into the knife wound and jammed her fist into his already screaming with pain right kidney.

The few seconds that passed in slow motion before the trigger engaged, sped up double time once the bullet ricocheted off the glass and eviscerated the big guy’s brain through his left eye. He dropped with a reassuring thud.

“Bulletproof?” It was an odd satisfying moment to say that in unison with Romanova. The ensuing hysterical laughter abruptly brought to an end by a roomful of Hydra soldiers opening fire.

“Get the C4,” Bucky slammed his elbow back against the locked escape route.

He swung around full circle to put all his leverage into driving his fist against the latch.

Natasha huddled at his feet to dig out the explosives and detonators while enduring a rain of gunfire. “You planning on blowing us up?”

Bucky gritted, “Yup. Gonna blow the whole place.”

She stared up at him as he braced a foot against the deteriorating bullet-riddled door behind him and pounded into the burgeoning crack in their exit. 

“Are you insane?" No offense.”

He breathed an exasperated sigh and slammed at the crack again, “None taken.”

The deafening sound of gunfire directed at their backs grew louder.

“It’s giving out, Barnes.” Romanova had to shout over the din of alarms, gunfire, and Bucky’s growing scream as his fist pounded out their escape. She leaned back into the door, bracing her feet on any firm surface, throwing herself into his efforts.

A hint of cool air brushed across them.

Another hit. More coolness. Another scream as his shoulder connected with the groaning latch, pushing and shoving together, until they were through.

Bucky stumbled forward but righted himself in time to feel the first bullet whizz past his head.

Romanova crashed into him, they retreated down the far wall along the server racks.

“This was a great plan.” She reflexively blew the hair out of her face.

“No plan, just winging it.” He slapped the C4 on a rack and connected the detonator.

The sound of the glass wall exploding interrupted their moment.

“Guess they found their explosives,” Bucky mumbled as he set the charges. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“No more heroics. Steve will kill me if I go back without you.”

He hurried through the setup; “Done. Now. Go...go...go.”

Bucky paused with his back against the server rack; he watched Romanova slip down the ladder; the red dot laser sights skittering along the wall in front of him. He knew the second he stepped towards the trapdoor all those lights would converge on him.

“Hope they don’t know about groin shots.” He muttered to himself. Once again, the Voice nowhere to be found when shit goes down.

“Ok, Barnes, you got this.” A deep breath; one more thought of Steve.

He stepped into their view; the barrage of bullets slammed into his chest sucking away his breath.

He triggered the explosives.

Red, yellow then white colors burned his retinas; a scorching hot wave of air blew him backward to bounce against the opening and down the shaft. There was no time to dedicate to how bad it all hurt.

“Fuuuccck!”

He grabbed at the wall; his metal fingers screeching down the concrete. His foot bounced down four rungs; his flesh hand dragged across the metal vents; he tucked his head to his chest and snagged again at the wall with his metal fingers. The blowback from the explosion above chased him down the shaft, licking at his feet as he crashed to the floor in blinding pain.

“Barnes? You OK?” Romanova’s whispered croak in his ear. Her hand on his cheek.

He didn't care.

“Still. Alive.” But he wasn’t sure he’d be getting up anytime soon.

“How bad are you hurt? A scale of 0 to 10?”

“Twelve. Soon to be nine, then six, then three.” He rolled to his side with a restricted moan and curled his knees up; catching her in his fetal position.

“Ok soldier, we need to walk it off.” She whispered. “Shit’s going down out here.”

“Steve?” Bucky staggered into the destruction that used to be the tunnel. The dust of the battle above them still settling. A quick assessment even in the faint light of far-off bulbs showed him the evidence of a fight, discarded weapons, unconscious men, bullet holes in the walls. What tore at his attention was a red star on a silver shield, halfway buried in a mountain of stone.

“Steve.” He limped forward towards the shield, stumbled over rubble. “Steve?” He dropped to his knees at the star, blinking his eyes clear from the onslaught of the explosion, the fall, and the dust.

Bucky started to dig. One stone after another then another. “No. No. No.” He muttered as he tossed aside everything that was coming between him and Steve. The shield tumbled loose, he pushed it aside and kept going. The pain from his wounds fell away from his awareness. His kidney roared for attention with every effort to free him from the mound. Panic twisted in his stomach, tightened his chest, sent waves of white noise to his brain. Somewhere around him Wilson and Romanova were digging as well, but they were like the ghosts that walked with him every day. Wavering; their words muffled and distant; a presence without influence except to convict.

“ _You did this Soldier. Your hair-brained scheme up there dropped the ceiling on him. Idiot.”_

“No time for your bullshit. Help me.” Bucky didn’t care if anyone heard him.

His vision cleared a bit with the help of tears; then they got in the way. He let them fall.

“Where are you?” He sobbed openly as he dug, tossed, shoved; desperate to find him.

His hand connected with an arm, he followed it to a shoulder.

“Here. He’s found him.” Wilson’s voice a distortion to his ears.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Bucky growled when they tried to help pull Steve out.

He pushed the last stone from his head. A wide gash bleeding freely; his eyes closed. Hard to tell if he was breathing or not.

Bucky sucked in a sobbing breath. “Steve?” He leaned down close to his face; touched his forehead; brushed back the blood from his eyes. “Wake up, Steve.” He cradled his head in his hand, lifted his shoulders and scrambled to sit behind him letting his body rest against his chest, encircling him in arms and legs, he tucked his face against his neck.

“Don’t leave me,” He whispered and pressed his lips to his cheek “You can’t leave me.”

His sobbing breaths shook both of them enough that Bucky didn’t feel Steve move at first.

A weak cough, then a hand squeezing his calf startled him to look closer.

“Steve?”

Another cough; long blond lashes fluttered, the grip on Bucky’s calf got tighter.

A barely there rasp, "Good to go, pal.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Nat we need to get out of here.” Sam was about done with the Barnes adventure. “He’s fun for the first twenty-four hours but it’s getting old now, or I’m getting old. How long have we been down here, a week?”

“Mission go was twelve hours ago. We’ve been down here about eight. I think. Hard to tell. My phone is dying.” She shook it as if that would get more battery life.

They sat at the edge of the old station platform where they withdrew to regroup.

sam groaned, “They’re super-soldiers they can handle this stuff. I’m still bleeding here.”

“I dunno, they look pathetic right now.” She nodded towards a staircase that ended at a concrete wall. Bucky insisted Steve sit while he checked for more injuries. “We thought Rogers was mothering, look at Barnes. If he pokes his arm one more time I think Steve’s gonna deck him."

Bucky hovered, paced, worried, apologized, interspersed with poking and prodding, he examined close to every inch of him until he Steve's grip corralled him. He struggled against the pull to contain him but Steve kept holding on, catching him with a hand, a leg, then a knee, “Slow down.” A hand caressed his bicep, “I’m ok.” A leg blocked his move to pace again, “Settle down.” Another hand gripped his metal forearm and tugged, “Breathe.” He felt his knees buckle as Steve dragged him down to fall between his legs, “It wasn’t your fault.” He gave in to the steadiness of Steve’s hold.

“I nearly killed you.” He mumbled against his chest.

Steve's words spoken against Bucky's head, “I’m still here, so you missed.”

“Not funny.”

Steve pulled him up to look at him, “You’re a mess. Is that Nat’s T-shirt around your stomach?”

“Yes. I didn’t look when she took it off if you’re worried about that.”

“Noooo. Not worried about that, worried about you getting shot again.”

“Not shot. Stabbed. I’m fine.” Bucky buried his face in his chest again, wanting to stay tucked against Steve for a few minutes longer but the sound of footfalls echoing in the tunnel dictated a change in plans.

 

“It’s like they know where we are all the time,” Sam grumbled as they moved as quickly as possible for four injured Secret Avengers. They ditched Ellingwood at the station. ‘Not needed.” Bucky had declared. Besides she was tagged and they still needed her intel.

Sam moaned with every step. His wound mostly stable if he sat very still. Running down the dark and damp corridors under Boston out of the question.

Steve remained semi-delirious. “Bucky you know how amazing you look? That blood all over you is --- stimulating.” He sniffed at the blood until redirected by metal fingers. Then added, “You think we could take a break in one of these alcoves?”

The first time Steve said it, Bucky was happy to oblige thinking Steve needed to rest. The second time Bucky just kept going, “No Steve. Leave my pants alone, we are not going to 'do it' in the tunnels while Romanova and Wilson keep watch.” Bucky hated to pass up that offer but someone had to be the ‘responsible’ one.

“ _Now you’re the responsible one? What’s this world coming to, Soldier?”_

“Wow," Natasha's succinct response.

Bucky blushed for real and was grateful it was too dark to tell.

He half carried, half dragged Steve while watching behind them for more Hydra goons.

“Barnes. What’s the plan.” Natasha fell in beside him.

He shook his head. “Escape.”

“I like it. Global. How about the details.”

He deadpanned, “Escape alive.”

She countered, “Timeline?”

“Soon.”

“Seriously. Barnes.” She grabbed his metal arm and stopped him. “What about them.” She tilted her head towards Steve and glanced at Sam. “Sam’s bleeding out; Steve’s got a head injury. Are you really so singularly focused you’d risk their lives?”

“You know Steve. He won’t leave if I stay.”

“Then don’t stay.”

He juggled Steve on his hip, all six, heavy but gorgeous, feet of him. If Bucky had any experience with children he’d of compared himself to a mom with a toddler, almost. Steve nuzzled into him; his semi-coherent state giving him the freedom to throw an arm across his chest and over his shoulder, coming to rest draped around Bucky like a cozy quilt in winter. Which was all good by Bucky except when Steve bit his neck --- hard; more than once, then licked his sweat-soaked skin.

With Natasha less than three feet away. Staring at him.

He could feel the shudder it sent down his spine all the way into his toes.

A distracted answer to her observation, “Yeah. So. I could leave.”

He wiggled his head and shoulder trying to get Steve to unclench his teeth. 

“Look you don’t get it.” He tried to explain the importance of phase three of his plan which was really phase six of the overall plan.

She pushed, “No, I don’t get it because you didn't include us in your elaborate plans. And do not say that you work alone. Not anymore.”

Steve’s hand drifted to his back, right over the damaged kidney.

“Fuck. Fuck Okay let go.” He squirmed, groaned and wiggled then reached around to pull Steve’s hand to his other hip.

“Barnes. What is the plan?” She gave him a look that conveyed her annoyance.

“One more stop. One more ED WAS HERE.” But his eyes got large; thankfully it was dark and Romanova didn't notice he hoped.

Steve’s other hand had dropped to his cock and was slowly, meticulously, alarmingly stroking it.

Under any other circumstances, he’d have been knocking Steve to the ground and fulfilling a lifelong dream.

But now was inconvenient. Somehow that hand was actually able to grope far up between his legs despite Bucky’s best efforts to squeeze his thighs together with considerable force to prevent said groping. 

Steve’s fingers brushed then pinched his balls sending shock waves through his groin and up into his belly.

Bucky gave credit to the serum for how Steve could drag his hand so firmly between his locked down thighs and wrapped his fingers in an astoundingly tight fist around his cock right through the cargo pants.

Then again, maybe it was Steve’s other hand on his ass that was accosting his genitals.

Maybe Steve had three hands. Bucky didn’t really know because his mind went to morphing colors of red, blue, green then white. His face went red.

On a happier note: his cock got kinda hard.

“ _Things are looking up, Soldier!”_

Natasha questioned, “Barnes. What the hell is going on?”

“Hard...Almost...Save me.” He mumbled incoherently.

“What?” Seems Natasha really didn’t see what was happening.

“ _It’s darker out there in the real world than it is in here pal.”_

Bucky stared at her. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. About any of it. The plan or the way Steve was working magic on his genitals. He grabbed at the not so offending hand on his cock and the one that was snaking its way towards his rectum and swung him around like a ballroom dancer. He landed behind Steve folding his hands up like a mummy.

“Right. Plan.”

Sam saved him, “Hey, we’ve got company again. It’s like they’re tracking us. I don’t get it.”

Bucky shifted his stare to Sam. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong now?” Natasha knew it was never a good sign when Barnes said shit.

 

 

“I swear I had no idea that blonde woman was Hydra when I tagged you.” Bucky looked maybe a bit sheepish when they relocated to a safer spot to dig out the tracker.

Sam stated his case, “You are such an asshole, Barnes.”

“You knew that when you moved in.”

“Why the hell did you do it?” Sam groused as Bucky tried to dig out the tracker by the fading light of a cell phone.

“She wanted to tag me. No way I’d let her do that.” He snorted.

“So you did it to me? Jerk.”

Bucky defended, “It was funny at the time. You didn’t even feel it.”

“Funny? To whom, you and your damn voices?”

“Well, yeah if you need to know the Voice in my head thought it was hysterical.” Bucky threw that out there with ease but it was a defensive tactical move; he only talked to Steve about the Voice; well and that new therapist, once, never again, maybe.

It ended with the tracker on the tip of his finger which he demonstrated to Sam.

“If I didn’t feel it, then maybe she tagged you, and you don’t even know it.” Sam got the last word sounding more like a schoolyard taunt than a grown-up.

“Sam! No taunting.” Steve evoked one of his rules. Even in his confused state, he knew the last thing a markedly paranoid former assassin needed was fuel.

Bucky spent the next thirty minutes perseverating, “Steve. Feel my neck. Can you feel anything? Here’s the knife. Dig it out.”

Steve patted his chest multiple times as they made their way through the tunnels, “It’s OK, Buck, he didn’t mean it. There's nothing there.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The four of them stood at the connector spot for the old Essex Street Station. The stairwell went up to the street. Only a wrought iron gate stood between them and sunlight, air, showers, and sleep.

“OK, this is it. I've texted Fury’s backup phone he’ll be here alone in one hour.” Natasha clicked her phone off.

“Now we wait.” Sam hugged his wings. He had insisted they divert to the station and pick them up. Considering he felt responsible for Sam getting shot, Bucky backtracked, circled and if he was being honest, wandered around lost until he found the station and retrieved the wings. It was the least he could do, besides, he really wanted to get his jacket back.

Bucky ripped the chain from the gate and settled Steve on the stairs. He pulled the jacket over Steve's shoulders and tucked it around him. His hand played with the tousled blond hair, scraping at the dried blood.

Steve leaned into his touch. “I’m sorry, Buck. I was wrong about her.”

“Wrong about who?”

“You know who, Sharon. She betrayed us.”

“We don’t technically know that, yet.”

Steve added, “This mission should have clicked along without a hitch, instead someone’s tried to kill you every step of the way.”

Bucky squatted to search his face, “You do realize what I’ve been for the last seventy years?”

“You’ve been lost.”

“I’ve been killing people.”

“Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t just magically go away ‘cuz you say so.”

Steve sighed, “Back to Sharon, it has to be her.”

“You really must have a head injury; not like you to change the topic. You’re more bullheaded than that.” Bucky poked at the gash on his head squinting at the nearly congealed blood.

Romanova pulled him aside, “We’ll come back, Barnes. I promise.” She had regrets about abandoning the mission even if they were pissed about him keeping half of it a secret.

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter; they fell silent and leaned side by side against the tiled wall of the staircase.

Natasha turned her shoulder to look closer at him. “I need to ask you something?”

He was too tired to see it coming.

She whispered, “Do you remember me?”

He didn’t look up. Or move. Or say anything. But his breathing slowed.

An attempt to keep probing, “I thought for a minute there in the server room. In the mantrap, that you remembered me. Something or someone.” She trailed off picking up on his stillness cues. How he looked ready, not relaxed; a slow burn of anger versus exhaustion.

“Or not.” She turned away but kept him in her peripheral vision.

Bucky pushed away from the wall and stepped back into the station past the gate and away from Steve. He stopped and turned his head slightly. She took it for what he meant and followed him.

He cracked his neck side to side; never once looking at her. “Let’s be clear, I do not owe you this.”

“Then don’t say it.”

“No. I’m sayin’ it because I know you, widow, you’ll never stop bringing it up.”

She started to argue but he interrupted.

“I remember...” He paused, gathering the images from a deep hidden compartment, “I remember, a young stupid girl who thought she was helping but didn’t.” He hesitated again.

She shifted to see more of his face and whispered. “That girl never meant to hurt you.”

He shook off her comment, “I remember schoolgirl questions about events that were best left dead and buried.”

“I only wanted to help you.”

“No. You were curious. You heard stories and had your big chance to talk to the Winter Soldier. I was a make-believe player in your fantasy world not a human being."

Romanova didn’t argue. She had long thought the same thing about the night their paths crossed for the first time.

He sighed, “The stories told at night in the Red Room were fairy tales.”

“You are real. She was real.”

He shook his head again, “Stories told by lonely children desperate for love in a fucked up world.”

“She loved you.”

His muttered terse response, "Love is for children. You and I, the people of the Red Room are not, were not children.”

“You loved her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “You don’t know anything about me...or her.”

Romanova slipped one-foot closer, “You said her name tonight right before you thought you were going to die. People don’t do that when they don’t have feelings...”

“Stop.” 

The energy of his pain was like an aura surrounding him. Her words and pressure stirred it’s power; giving her a glimpse of why he resisted her touch.

“I know what I said.” He spit out. “Don’t mistake my last words as something meant for your ears or memory.”

His turn to face her brought him within inches of her hand. He whispered, “I’m not threatening you, I won’t touch you, but I won’t put up with any more questions like this.”

Natasha took a moment before answering, “Understood.”

He brought his gaze to match hers, “I am going to ask you, as nicely as I can, to never say her name or mention her again. Can you give me that at least?”

She nodded ‘Yes’ as he moved away from her.

“Barnes. What about your message to Steve, you still want that delivered?”

“No.” He tossed over his shoulder, “I’m alive. I’ll tell him myself.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The thwacking noise that slowly came closer to their location stirred Sam from his slumped position.

Steve stayed nested against Bucky’s shoulder as he sat propped up against the wall. 

Natasha ran down the stairs from the street level “Its Fury. He’s got a chopper on the roof next door.”

Bucky helped Steve stand up. He wobbled but righted himself.

“So you should take this with you.” He whispered and pushed the shield into Bucky’s hand.

“What are you talking about, Rogers?” Bucky feigned he was clueless.

Steve put a hand on Bucky's chest, “I know you’re gonna finish this. You were waiting for me to head out the door and you’d just disappear like you always do.”

“I am offended by that accusation.”

“Yeah. I’m right I know it. I can feel your anxiety vibrating in your chest. I think I even heard that Voice of yours talking up the plan.”

“Wrong about the Voice, he’s a coward. Always disappears when it gets tough.”

“Not wrong about the plan though, am I?”

Bucky sighed as his answer.

Steve took Bucky’s right hand to slip the shield into place. The gold cord caught on the grip.

“Hold it for me.” He held out his wrist for Steve to unhook the cord. “Don’t lose it. Don’t let Wilson touch it.”

"I won’t lose it or let Sam touch it.” Steve smiled.

“You can wear it,” Bucky whispered as he tilted his head towards him to hint that their mouths would connect, but not quite.

“No kiss?” Steve wondered.

“Nope. I’ll never leave if I do.”

“I’ll go with you, the serum will kick in. I can walk it off.”

“Rogers, you and your damn serum, you’ll only be in the way.”

“They have an army after us, they’ll be waiting for you.”

"Nope. I got rid of the tracker in Wilson. They don’t know where I’m heading. In and out, that’s the plan.”

“Don’t leave. Give me a day maybe two. I’ll back you up.”

  
“I’m sorry, Steve, I need to do this.” Bucky laid a hand on his chest and turned to go.

“Wait, Buck, the house isn’t safe. Where will we meet?”

“This time, Rogers, I’ll find you.”

 

Bucky left before Fury arrived. He was done trusting anyone except Steve, next Romanova, and Wilson although he’d take that secret to his grave.

“ _Hopefully not anytime soon.”_

“Hey, pal. Nice of you to show up.”

“ _Nice shield. It’s got our red star.”_

“My red star. Not yours. Mine and Steve’s.”

 

He tested the balance and weight of the shield on his arm. It felt a lot like the old one from what he could recall. It wasn’t its physical attributes that bothered him; it was the implications. Steve was hurt enough to stop going forward. Bucky couldn’t recall him ever stopping like that. He gave up the Captain America shield for him, to protect him. Now he gave him the new shield and let him walk away.

“What the hell are you doing Rogers?”

He wasn’t lost in his thoughts enough to forget his surroundings; or lose track of his direction. He kept his only real weapon in his hand and the shield hefted and ready in the other.

“One more stop. One more ED WAS HERE.”

“ _You always had such a soft heart, child. It will be your downfall. Better to forget and be the Soldier than to be a bleeding heart.”_

Bucky stopped short. A rush of adrenalin washed through his brain and chest. “What?” The voice wasn’t that of his constant tormenting companion. It was different, softer, feminine.

A tremor shook through him as he looked around the dark tunnels as if the voice was outside of his head. He hoped it was outside; didn’t want to believe it could be anything else.

“ _Pasha, my child, you will always belong to me.”_

The change in the tone made him stumble, but the sound of feet running brought him around with the gun aimed at the first person to come into his sight. He hoped he could fight off the old Widow’s control before Hydra took him forever.


	24. Redemption Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following! Words in < > these brackets are spoken in Russian. <3

 

Sam was flanked on either side by Natasha and Steve. “My intestines are falling out, I can feel it.”

Natasha slapped him on the shoulder “Good news Cassie’s with Fury. She’ll shove them back in. I’m sure she’ll wear gloves, no worries.” She shrugged at Steve so Sam couldn’t see it.

They hurried through the crowded street, ignored the throng of people in the building, and made their way with Fury into a freight elevator.

“Where is she, Fury? Where’s Sharon?” Steve’s anger seeped out of every pore.

“She’s back on Long Island at the sanitorium, monitoring the data coming in from the laser tags.”

“Sanitorium? She’s gonna need a sanitarium, better yet a trauma center, when I’m done with her.” Natasha growled as the elevator doors closed.

Steve went toe to toe with Fury “Pull her out of there. Take her into custody.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa….I get it, this mission fell apart but let’s not get ahead of...”

“Fell apart? The guards came early.”

  
“Could have been a miscalculation."

“A van of soldiers tried to kidnap him.”

“May have been a mistaken identity.”

Sam frowned “Mistaken identify? Have you actually looked at Barnes lately?”

Steve kept going “They knew the trigger words.”

Fury cut him off, “I understand, but she doesn’t know the trigger words, we don’t know it was her and we’re better off.”

“Don’t know it was her? No one else had this intel, it had to be.”

“I had it, you had it, they had it.” Fury nodded towards Natasha and Sam.

“Hey! I hate the guy but I wouldn’t sell him out.” Sam offered weakly.

  
“So you think I would sell him out?” Steve’s feet didn’t move but his body leaned into Fury’s space.

“No.” Fury didn’t back down but softened “We need to let this play out to catch her if she’s the mole.”

“Play out? With him as the bait, is that it?”

“Not what I said, Rogers. He’s already in there. She’s isolated. I’ve cut off her connection to what we’re doing now. Let’s get him out of there and see how she plays her next hand.”

They all fell silent as the elevator dinged at each floor.

Steve wasn’t convinced but his thoughts hung on something Fury said ‘She doesn’t know the trigger words.’ He ruminated over the night, the missteps, the constant pursuit, Ellingwood’s confidence, how each location marker was hidden. But he kept coming back to the trigger words.

Steve slapped the button for the next floor.

“What the hell?” Fury barked.

“Getting off here. It wasn’t her, maybe. And I need help.” He grabbed Natasha’s wrist and rushed off the elevator.

“Coming?” Natasha quizzed as she gave Sam a look of ‘You better get your ass off that elevator.’

He complied.

 

“Rogers, what’s the plan?” Natasha wondered as she hefted Sam’s flight pack.

“We’re going to back him up.”

“What? No. I’m done. He’s insane. Look at us.” Sam clung to the banister.

“Sam, he’s walking into an ambush. They weren’t following your tag, they knew all along where he’d go.” Steve pulled at Sam’s arm.

“How? He didn’t tell anyone, not us, not Fury.” Natasha pried Sam’s fingers off the handrail.

“Nope. He doesn’t trust anyone. He didn’t even tell me.” Steve paused every few steps to let them catch up.

“So how would they know his plans.”

  
“He told Sokolov. She knows the trigger words. Not Sharon.”

Sam argued, “She’s a prisoner at Fury’s headquarters.”

Steve countered. “He was her prisoner for a month. What if he told her everything he remembered; what if she triggered him, and passed it on; they would know he’d show up eventually.”

Sam groused. “So he told Hydra his super secret intel and still dragged us on the mission anyway? Asshole.”

“Sam, he doesn’t remember telling her. Nat said the widow used conditioning on him, or the trigger words; maybe she tricked him into telling her.”

Natasha paused on the stairs, “Steve, she didn’t trick him.”

He kept running downward.

“Steve.”

“What? Come on we need to go.”

“You need to hear this. She didn’t trick him.” Natasha and Sam caught up with him. “She tortured him. Made him dependent on her for everything; food, clothing, human contact….she broke him down then brought him back up so he’ll think she’s his savior.”

“That was years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes and no. She did all that years ago but she reinforced it when she had him again.”

“Reinforced? What exactly does that mean?”

“She used persuasion tools to encourage behavioral change.”

“Ok I don’t want to know...you’re right….you’re telling me this now?”

“If I had told you sooner you wouldn’t have let him do this.”

“Damn right. I’d of protected him from his own stupid ideas.”

“He needed to do this, Steve. He needs to fight his way out of her control even if she’s locked away.”

Steve took it all in. “That’s still a trick.”

“It’s more than that; it’s control that’s been embedded in him for years, he isn’t even aware of it; remember, I told you the day we rescued…...not rescued, him, his walking away was a start….it’s not over. He thinks she tried to take the words out of his head; I’m not so sure about that.”

Steve had a moment of despair, just a fleeting second, then “All the more reason to not let go.” His ribs and head protested as he jumped down the last flight of stairs and headed for the doors.

Sam grumbled, “I’ll admit it I’m confused.”

They hit the street and hurried to the abandoned subway entrance.

 

“I’ve got a few stun discs left, half a clip in my handgun and one knife.”

“I’ve got one clip, and wings.”

  
“I got nothing.”

“You’ve got your muscles super soldier.” Natasha drawled as they descended into the darkness after Barnes.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky waited for the owner of the footsteps to show themselves. He really hoped it would be Steve. “Stupid plan to let him leave even if he is hurt.” He didn’t need the Voice to tell him that, his own head knew it. But he also knew the last leg of this redemption plan was going to be hard, maybe impossible and he needed to protect Steve.

“ _So here we are Soldier. As usual, it all comes down to you and me.”_

“And the Widow.” He was shaken by the sound of that softer voice in his head, hoping it was just blood loss and dehydration and he couldn’t remember the last time he took the medications.

“ _Who knew the Winter Soldier would need a medication minder_ _box with an_ _alarm.”_

“Fuck you. I’m not the Winter Soldier and you’re just pissed you can’t control me as much anymore; next time I see that nurse I’m gonna ask her to up the dose so you’ll go the fuck away!” His argument with the Voice was interrupted by the sounds of more feet in the darkness. He squinted to clear the shadows; slowed his breathing to focus his hearing on the subtle movements coming closer. His threat assessment was halted by a single red dot on his chest.

“Shit. Not Steve.” He dove to his right and rolled with the shield further into the tunnel.

“ _Creative use of the shield. Score 8.”_

“What?”

No one opened fire, but more red dots manifested through the space. He didn’t waste any energy on wondering how they found him. It was a given; he’d go after his target, they would go after him.

“ _Come home, Soldier. Give yourself up. I’ll protect you.”_

Bucky groaned silently at the widow’s words; if the rattle they caused in his head was frustrating, at least they weren’t convincing him to go ‘Home to Hydra’….at least not yet.

He counted the red dots as they started to converge on him again; most were on his chest; unfortunately, two were on his groin. “Fuck.”

“ _There’s more you can do with that shield you know.”_

He slowly shifted it to cover his groin.

“ _Not quite what I meant but you get points for creativity.”_

Bucky sighed “Ok, might as well use the damn thing.”

He stepped back for leverage, coiled his body around it and sent it hurtling towards the source of the laser lights. The din of gunfire rocked the space; bullets zinged all around him, he dove for the far side of the tunnel listening for the clanging rebound of the shield; trying to meet its trajectory. The aftermath of moans and weapons dropping, then feet moving closer couldn’t overpower the hiss of the shield cutting through the air. He instinctively raised his metal hand into the darkness to meet its edge.

The force of it slamming into his palm gave him all the energy he needed to step out into the brawl.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve was a half mile ahead of Nat and Sam by the time he hit the old Essex Street station platform. His ribs were mildly complaining, the gunshot wound in his arm had scabbed over, and his head stopped bleeding. His thoughts were consumed by one theme; “What if she can control him even now.” He tripped over a body in the darkness; searched it for recognition but no metal arm.

 

He kept going; his mind went back to the first days in the house when Bucky said: “What about the words in my head.” It didn’t matter to Steve that Bucky refused therapy then and now; didn’t matter that he never brought it up again. All that mattered was how Steve hadn’t pursued it. He dove into his pool of guilt as he ran deeper into the underground hoping those damn words were not being used again somehow by Hydra. His chest ached from the thoughts of how she may have tortured him, took him away right from under his protection; but his heart ached at how powerless Bucky must feel when those fucking trigger words fall into his hearing.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky fought his way through way too many Hydra goons in the tunnel; down a passageway and up into a connector tunnel that led to an active station. He found the last target area. “Six of six.” He mumbled as he braced himself against the wall to tear the door down.

“ _You did pretty well with that shield._ _T_ _rading in your guns?”_

He ignored the Voice’s chatter.

The fighting had taken its toll; he had a fresh hole in his left leg and the stab wound was bleeding again, thanks to a ridiculous monkey pile with four soldiers, one of which unmercifully kneed him in the belly a few times.

 

The final piece was important...more important than anything else he had done in the last who knows how many hours or days. “Six of six. Then rest.”

He found the entrance guarded by more soldiers. “This is getting old, even for me.” He grumbled as he took out two of them with the shield and tossed one down the tracks. He pointed his pistol at the last one, who prudently ran away as Bucky let his last bullet fly to the far left of his target.

“ _Still not use to the no-kill rule, Soldier. How about one for old times sake?”_

Bucky only had a sigh left for the Voice as he took the stairs three at a time up to his destination. A long hallway with locked rooms on either side. He paused at the top and let an old memory crawl through his mind. The Soldier had been here before a few times, years earlier; he had no role in the service of the place; was only there as the asset attached to handlers who were getting downtime. Those handlers had particular recreational tastes; the Soldier wasn’t privy to the events, only the implications; what he witnessed was distinctive enough to register and return after the silo fight when the memories came roaring back to haunt him.

This destination was the reason he tagged the Hydra operatives instead of killing them; ‘Cut off one head, two more will take its place.’ Bucky knew this better than anyone, even Steve. He took out the guns and the computers after sending the data to Stark “Cut off one head, two more will take its place.” He muttered to himself. He dared to hope he could make a small amount of redemption here and maybe the night’s work would keep Hydra from doing this again at least here in the underground of Boston.

He wasn’t naive; he had a shoe box full of other locations all waiting for him to survive this mission.

 

“Ok, let’s wrap this up shall we?” He didn’t often start conversations with the Voice but felt it was appropriate given most of the encouragement he’d received over the course of this mission had been...well...supportive...not vicious negativity.

Except the Voice didn’t answer, a sure sign something was amiss.

“Shit.”

He stepped out of the shadows and into what felt like glaring overhead light compared to the tunnels. His eyes adjusted quickly to take in the figure at the end of the hallway. No guards, no dogs, no guns. One diminutive person without a single weapon.

Bucky had fought dozens of soldiers, had been shot...twice, stabbed once, almost blown up, definitely blown down a shaft, nearly raped….he shuddered; his kidney was mush, and in general had the piss kicked out of him and was still going mostly strong only to face the one person who could stop him.

 

He faced the old Widow.

 

“<Hello, my child. I knew we’d see one another again.>”

She smiled a grandmotherly smile that sent bile into his throat more so than his usual anxiety driven puking. He couldn’t speak words out loud; but his mind spit out “What the fuck woman, you’re supposed to be in prison.” The ‘fuck’ word stayed tightly under wraps.

He contemplated running back down the stairs but those locked doors were why he was there facing her down. He wasn’t going to abandon the reason for all this fighting. He didn’t want to admit even to himself, the power of her eyes locked with his, kept his feet rooted in place.

He vaguely hoped he was hallucinating; like seeing Mrs. Stark, he waited expectantly for the seizure that would knock him to the floor; then he could wake up with Steve’s worried face staring down at him; his hands on his chest, tears falling on his face, then Steve would unzip his pants, roll him onto his belly, hitch his hips up into the air and then he’d fuck him right there on the floor of that hallway in front of her. Take that, you old Widow.

“ _Whoa there Soldier, rein it in! Now is not the time get your head in the game here.”_

Bucky shook his head from side to side, not really wanting to rid himself of the tangential thoughts of Steve fucking him but glad to have the Voice spew some reason now was not the time.

His musing came to an abrupt halt when she took two steps towards him. He fought with the terror-rage that froze his body and mind; and said the only thing he could think of at that moment.

“<Hello Mother. I’ve missed you.>”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

Steve followed the trail of injured soldiers to the last ED WAS HERE, although he would have found his way based on the demolished wooden door and the discarded handgun he recognized as Buckys. He was in a subway tunnel that had more lighting and echoed distant sounds of metal wheels on tracks; a slight stale breeze wafted by at times. In the distance, a pool of yellow light and faded voices gave the hint of an active station.

He stared at a mark of fresh blood on the wall; it looked like a handprint only splayed out and squared off; as if put there by a metal hand. “Ok. Pal, on my way.”

 

He cautiously crossed the threshold, crept up the stairs and hugged the shadows….he could hear Bucky talking. Steve tried to quiet his unsettled feelings as he listened to the contrite tone. “I understand. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I promise I’ll do better.” It made him sick to hear him nearly grovel.

“Please let me try to do better. I’ll come home. I’ve missed you.”

His mind wandered to the only person he thought could do this to Bucky; he hoped he was wrong. He stepped into the hallway; Bucky was standing with his back towards Steve, looking down at someone in front of him.

“Buck. Hey, pal. I’ve been looking for you.” His steadied his voice.

There were no more words from Bucky.

“Who you talking to, buddy?”

Steve saw his whole body stiffen at the sound of the questions. He could see the telltale signs of stress; the squared shoulders, his feet shifted into a more balanced stance; there was the nearly imperceptible twitching of his head; the sure sign of Bucky feeling overwhelmed.

Steve worked on a non-threatening yet ready posture. The dread slowly grew that he would have to engage in the fight he never wanted to have….ever again.

“Hey, pal. It’s me, it’s Steve….How about we go home now.” He kept his words calm.

Bucky slowly turned to face him; his movement telegraphed his desire to protect the person standing behind him.

“Who are you talking to Buck?”

The answer came in his posture, not words; he stood firmly in place and brought the shield into position; dangerously close to being put to use.

Steve’s heart caught in his throat when he saw his face; blank and resolute. The nightmare of the helicarrier came to mind.

“Bucky...please….talk to me.”

Steve’s begging only received one response. A cold impassive stare.

“He isn’t going to answer you, Captain.”

Steve wasn’t surprised at hearing the Widow’s voice. She stepped around her guardian to show herself. “I told you before, he belongs to me. He has always belonged to me.” She downright purred.

“Buck, you don’t belong to anyone, not her, not me. You don’t need to listen to her.”

“But he needs to listen to you?” She laughed softly. “Is that what you’re saying? Who controls him, you or me.” She looked up at Bucky. “Should we see what he thinks?” Her arm snaked through Bucky’s metal elbow as she leaned her chin against his bicep, she patted his forearm. “Who should you listen to, child?”

Steve had a very cold chill run down his spine; he dismissed the jealousy and embraced his disgust. Everything screamed at him to lunge forward and drag her hands off of him.

But he wanted to give Bucky the choice; “Buck, come on, I know you, I know you don’t want her touching you like that you hate being touched, especially by a widow.”

“Who will you choose, Pasha?” Bony fingers laced through his metal ones; Bucky’s expression never wavered. He glanced down at her, his body shifting as if being drawn into a web. Her hand moved towards his face, fingers gently stroking his cheek. At first, it seemed he leaned into that touch as well but Steve caught one small sign in an otherwise revolting display, Bucky flinched when she touched his skin.

He went with it.

“Listen you jerk, I’m tired, my head hurts, my ribs hurt, I’m going home with or without you and when I get there I’m gonna eat all the ice cream then the peanut butter, I’m gonna jump on your bed, then I’m going to have a threesome with Nat and Sam. You won’t be there for any of that if you stay here with this old washed up hag of a Hydra agent. So what’s it gonna be….ice cream and hot sex or her.” Steve was going for the shock value even though most of what he said wasn’t true. Maybe the threesome part. Maybe. He was definitely going to eat the ice cream and jump on Bucky’s bed….wherever that may be…..hopefully with him in it.

Bucky stared blankly at Steve. The widow repulsively stroked his arm and cheek while Steve fumed. Then a glimmer of confusion passed over Bucky’s face. Steve was sure of it. He had a brief thought that it was the threat of eating all the ice cream that sparked the reaction.

A second later a metal fist was around his throat, driving him back down the hall.

“Buck stop it don’t do this.” He croaked out as he twisted at the metal wrist. His back bounced off the wall but the shield slammed a door so hard it shattered the wood. Bucky threw him across the hall; Steve crashed into that wall and again the shield fractured a door narrowly missing Steve’s head.

“Please, Buck….don’t want this.” He ducked under Bucky’s arm and retreated back across the hall only to be pinned by the shield jammed against his back. The metal fist broke through the third door as Steve squirmed away from the rain of splinters.

The last thing Steve wanted to do was hit him….but he did. An elbow to his chest knocked him back, Steve flipped around to drive a shoulder into his chest; they both crashed through the next door landing in a heap on the floor, Bucky on the bottom groaning from a number of insults and one good thing. His kidney and the stab wound were throbbing, but, on the upside, Steve was straddling his hips in an enjoyably distracting way.

Bucky glared at him and whispered “You are a fucking idiot for coming here. I’m trying to protect you.”

Steve shrugged “I came to rescue your ass, it’s a trap!”

“No shit.”

They rolled in opposite directions to get up. Something caught Steve’s attention. Eyes. Several sets of eyes were on them. Bucky ignored them but not Steve. He stared back at the people cowering in the corners watching them fight. He didn't have much time to process; Bucky snagged him by the belt and tossed him into the next door; the front kick missed Steve, of course, but took out the lock on that door as well. Steve spun away and stumbled towards the last door.

“STOP.” The widow’s command halted Bucky in mid-stride.

“Do you think you’re fooling me, Soldier.” Her voice had a power that belied her size. “I’ve been around too long to be so easily played.”

The sound of a stun prod firing up made Bucky stagger back. “Not one more step, Pasha.” Her menacing growl stopped any further movement, even Steve stood still.

“I know what you are doing, Soldier. Pathetic bleeding heart.” She spit the words out with so much venom Bucky’s fighting rage was stripped away in seconds; replaced with the stricken look of a little boy.

She closed the gap between them “You will take your punishment child.” She held the charging prod within inches of his metal arm. He stood obedient to her command.

Steve’s horror was surpassed by his rage as he watched Bucky unravel in seconds. His ragged breathing; the fear in his eyes, how the sound of the device paralyzed him; sent fire through Steve’s brain.

“Do not touch him. Do not fucking touch him.” His snarl matched her intensity; he inched carefully forward, heading for that tiny space between her torture device and Bucky’s metal arm.

She remained undaunted; “Or what, Captain; you’ll hurt me, kill me, I think not.” She waved the prod dangerously close to its target. “He is an unruly child that needs discipline. You see that yourself, I’m sure. Willful, disobedient, lacking in self-control, I know he’s not listening to me, he’s breaking these doors on purpose, delusions of being a hero.”

She waved the prod so close to Bucky that Steve could see the sparks of near contact race up and down the arm, he could see that Bucky felt the teasing threat. “As if a few good deeds will erase the hell he’s unleashed. There’s no saving your soul, Pasha. You’ve been damned by your own hands.”

Steve begged. "Bucky step away from her. Don’t listen to her.”

But he couldn’t move his feet; her words held him in place; shaking and powerless to listen even to Steve.

“Tell me, Captain, have you finally fucked him? Perhaps I should let you two have a go at it before I take him home.” She smiled the kind of nasty smile one does not expect from a grandmother. “Perhaps…. I’ll even watch.”

It took Steve a nanosecond to deck her; he’d crept close enough to reach her with his fist, while his eyes implied he would go for the prod. He only regretted that Bucky had to endure her onslaught of ugliness before he could shut her up. She looked a lot smaller in an unconscious pile on the floor, the stun prod sizzling next to her.

Bucky dropped to his knees and curled down; a quiet sob leaking out between his gasping breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t shut her up sooner.” Steve was kneeling next to him, leaning down to speak close to his ear, his hands anxiously hovering over his back and hair; waiting for a sign that he could hold him.

Bucky shook the shield off his forearm and grabbed Steve. He crawled into his lap clinging to him; his arms wrapped around him; he buried his head against his middle. Steve pulled him tight against his body. “Not gonna let go of you. Never letting go.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

Bucky whispered what he knew about the room’s occupants; in the past, they were young girls mostly, some boys. Now he thought they looked younger; it was hard for him to tell. He wouldn’t look at Steve as he told the story but confessed close to his ear Steve vowed he would help him do whatever it took to fight Hydra until every single operation was destroyed.

But he balked at the plan to let the Widow go. “Not a good idea, why do this?”

“We don’t need her.”

“That’s weak. It’s not about needing her. It’s about keeping you safe.”

“I have you. You’ll keep me safe.” It was nearly innocent the way he said it. Steve’s heart broke a little.

“She’s a menace...she...” He hated to say it but all the soul-searching along the way made him blurt it out. “She can control you. I saw it, you know it. She needs to be locked up and the key destroyed.”

Bucky frowned but wouldn’t relent. “Let her go.”

The old widow stirred on the floor. Steve didn’t want her to hear their argument; he relented to Bucky’s plan, for the moment and moved to put himself between her and the rescued children; and Bucky, as he ushered them into the staircase.

 

“I vowed no more killing when I walked away from Hydra.” He pressed the gun barrel deep into her flesh at the back of her neck; the side of her head was braced against the wall; blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. “I just might make an exception in your case.” His words were meant to have bravado but Steve could hear the undercurrent of anxiety.

“Do it then, Soldier, pull the trigger.” She taunted.

Steve paced behind them, not wanting either of them to see his struggle. He wanted to throw her in a very special cell on the Raft, and let himself and Natasha interrogate her for days on end. But it was Bucky’s call and Steve had to envoke being a leaf on the wind.

She started to speak in Russian...Steve jumped towards her and covered her mouth with his hand. “Nope. Not taking any chances. Buck...please, let’s just take her in; we’ll bring her to the Raft..you and I...nevermind….Nat and I, not you.” He groaned at the quick flash of fear that crossed Bucky’s face at the mention of going to the Raft.

Bucky shook his head emphatically as his metal hand tightened on her shoulder until it drew a whimper that ended in a defiant spit of blood into Steve’s hand.

“Ok. Kill her then. Let’s get this over with. I’m good with it.” Steve wiped his hand on his pants and walked a few feet away. “I’m moving over here...don’t want any more of your foul blood splattering on me. Go on, Buck, do it. Kill her.” Bucky hesitated, wondering if Steve really meant it.

“Fine. What’s one more.” Bucky muttered, then pulled the trigger. The click sent a shudder through her; a shudder that gave Bucky a few seconds of relief. “Not wasting any more time on you.” He pushed her aside and headed down the stairs.

Steve followed him. “So you tagged her?”

“Yup…...You doubted me.”

“Yup.” He grabbed Bucky’s arm and stopped him. “Not gonna hold back anymore, pal. You let her go because of who she is...what happened between you. I don’t think you could kill her even if you wanted to. I think she’s set you up to always watch out for her even when you don’t know it.”

Bucky tried to pull away. “Give me some credit.”

Steve held on “She controlled you with words, Buck.”

“I know she has a piece of my mind.….but….so do you.” Bucky stroked Steve’s cheek and pulled him in to whisper “I chose you up there no matter how it looked or what either of you thinks. I chose you.”

The widow appeared at the top of the stairs. “Such a tender moment, child.”

Bucky pulled away and headed down the stairs.

“I’ll see you again Captain. I’ll see both of you again soon enough.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

“What the hell...” Sam blurted out as they hobbled down the tracks.

Natasha frowned at first when she saw figures moving towards them. The backlight from the distant station overpowered the faces. She pulled Bucky’s knife and readied herself; the last of the stun discs were gone, there were no more bullets between them and Sam was bleeding again.

She muttered, “I hate him.” As she thought about Barnes and this damn stupid mission.

Light reflected off something in the approaching crowd, it was round and silver. She sighed hoping the shield was still in Bucky’s or Steve’s possession; whoever was heading their way was surrounded by some very short soldiers.

The headlights of a trolley backlit the figures briefly. Two were tall, one had tousled long hair; the other one had a shield. Both had a distinctive way of walking. She slapped Sam on the chest “It’s them.”

 

“So this was the mission all along.” Natasha knelt to pick up one of the smaller children.

Bucky didn’t answer. But Steve did. “Apparently. Seems Hydra’s been running this operation for a very long time. They need medical attention. We need to get in touch with Fury.” Bucky watched the darkened tunnel, he knew it wasn’t over, they were still underground, still vulnerable...now with a pack of short people with bare feet.

  
“ _Maybe winging it on the plans isn’t a good idea anymore._ _Not to mention they’re so short.”_

“Shut up. I get it, better plans yes they’re short...I noticed. Trust me.” Bucky muttered as the others tried to get reception on their phones.

One of the taller kids stared at him intently.

Bucky’s paranoia was generally hypersensitive; at this point in the mission, it was on screech.  “What? What are you looking at? I’m covered in blood I get it. Not a reason to stare."

The kid didn’t flinch. He just kept watching Bucky.

"Wait...it’s the arm isn’t it...you’re staring at the arm.”

He shook his head ‘no’ then ventured quietly “You hear voices too?”

  
“What? No. NO. I’m just talking to...myself.” Bucky paced away quickly. In all the time with Steve and company, no one had ever just called him on it.

“ _Out of the mouths of babies.”_

Bucky stopped walking away and ran his hand through his hair. He strode back and stood over the kid so close he nearly fell over backward to see all the way up to Bucky’s face. “Yes. I do. I hear voices and I talk to one of them. All the time.”

“Really…..is he nice to you?”

Bucky shrugged kinda “Mostly he’s ok. Sometimes not so helpful...actually mean, but then again I am an as…jerk…. You got a problem with that, kid?”

“Nope. I hear them too.” A slender finger slipped timidly through a belt loop on Bucky’s pants. Bucky stood erect; with more stillness than he had ever employed as Hydra’s best assassin.

Off in the distance….Steve started laughing.

 

Movement down the darkened tunnel shook him out of his stunned pose. He was grateful for the distraction even if it meant more fighting.

“We need to go. Now.” He whispered to Steve as he stumbled over the attached child and grabbed a spindly girl with a limp and threw her on his back; he ignored the protest of his kidney as her foot balanced on his hip. Natasha thrust a smaller child into his arms; he held it like a wet blanket in front of him.

“On your hip Barnes, like holding Steve...on your hip.” She called as she scooped up two more. He cautiously adjusted the child to his right hip….searching his long years of memories for any reference points.

“ _Nothing in the past 70 years, pal.”_

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Fury brought Cassie’s medical team to the entrance of the station. Four very dirty, beat up, bloody Secret Avengers and a small horde of ragtag barefoot children coming up out of a subway on a Sunday morning got the trolley riders cell phone cameras rolling. Hydra was nowhere to be found. Fury was counting on that when he suggested the station as their recovery point.

 

Bucky retreated to the tunnels once he dropped off his cargo. The kid who clung to his belt loop cried when Cassie pried him away. Bucky couldn’t begin to process how that made him feel.

“ _That kid heard voices just like you and me._ _He didn’t want to leave you.”_

He didn’t want to listen to the Voice, but maybe the therapist would get a second call….maybe, after a shower, sleep, food, more sleep, more food...oh and sex…..hopefully, but probably not...sex. Maybe calling the therapist. “Shit I’m tired.”

 

He watched the darkness. He blinked then squeezed his eyes shut for as long as he dared then opened them trying to clear the haze of dehydration, and missing who knows how many doses of his meds.

“I know I saw it.” He muttered to himself.

He was sure of it in the moment; a white-hot glow of light far down the tunnel. A familiar sound that brought back the silo; his mind conjured up possibilities, the kind that made him sick. But what little rational thought he had left told him it was a trolley. Then again...first impressions.

“ _Only a matter of time, Soldier.”_

But the light reappeared, far along the abandoned tracks where they had just come from. It was too bright to be a flashlight, the tracks were destroyed so not a trolley. He started walking...deeper and deeper into the tunnel. It seemed as if the light was moving as well, coming for him. He blinked again; it was still there, moving forward; he could almost hear the arc reactor.

He took a chance and spoke: “I knew I saw you.”

“I know I’ve got no right to ask favors but could we not do this in front of Steve?”

The light kept moving unrelentingly towards him, seemingly ignoring his words.

“ _Guess all that redemptive work was for nothing...aannd you still haven’t fucked Steve.”_

 

“What are you doing Buck?” Steve had followed him.

“Nothing.” He startled at Steve’s voice and turned around.

“Who were you talking to?”

“You know, the Voice in my head. I’m always talking to him.” When he looked back; there was only darkness.

“Let’s get out of here.” Steve slipped himself close against Bucky, his hand curled across his belly; his mouth brushed against his ear; he tugged at him, snaked a leg around his leg, making them both stumble backward away from the blackness they had just survived. “No more, Buck….let it go.” His whispered words warmed Bucky’s skin and distracted him enough to turn away from what he believed was the inevitable end of his redemption mission. Facing Tony Stark.

 

Steve had been listening to Bucky talk to his Voices for a few months now. The current conversation was nothing like what he’d heard. He’d seen the same white-hot light as well. He knew who was waiting. And he was going to move heaven and earth to protect him. Even if it meant lying to him.


	25. The Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve finally get "together" YEAH!!!

 

THE ELEVATOR

Bucky slumped against the side of the freight elevator; he hurt from head to toe; even his scalp from that bastard at the computer room.

“ _Well, that was a lifetime ago.”_

He closed his eyes to take a pain inventory only to be hijacked by his scattered thoughts.

“Threesome?” He blurted out.

“What?” Steve slumped against the opposite wall. Like super soldier, bookends with only space between them.

“Back there you said you, Romanova and Wilson were gonna have a threesome.”

“No. I never. Wait I did, didn’t I, I was kidding, just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Bucky smirked “A rise?”

“You know, get your attention.”

“Well obviously, you got my attention. I’m asking about it now.”

“I meant to get your attention back there….you know..distract you from...you know who.”

“Oh. So no threesome?”

“No. no, so it worked, it got your attention, I saw you twitch kinda.”

“Now it did; back there I twitched cuz you said you were gonna eat all the ice cream.”

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky raised his head to look at Steve. To really look at Steve.

They’d been living together for the past six months, and most days, he could only see him through the haze of his own guilt and shame; weighed down by the Voice and visions of the dead. His ghosts haunted his dreams on most nights and not infrequently formed a creepy entourage in the corner of every room, never commenting but always judging. The last thirty-six hours had been a roller coaster ride of events all of which served to bring some clarity.

He wanted Steve.

He dreamed about touching him, kissing him, taking him in a dozen ways that would drive him crazy with pleasure. But he also hoped that Steve would want him back. He dreamed about that too. How it would feel to be touched and held; he wanted Steve to take him, to hold him down and do everything from sweet and gentle to rough and rude.

But he never thought it would be real, even now after finding one another again; living together, they kissed sure, sometimes Bucky’s cock would get almost hard but he always thought it would never happen.

He knew he was too damaged, too crazy, so damn much baggage for anyone to ever want him like that. Too much bad had happened and now Steve knew about some of it. If he ever knew it all Bucky was sure he’d leave him. As much as he flirted and teased; left the shower door open and stood too close he knew nothing would ever happen.

He was “vulnerable” after all.

 

Steve felt Bucky staring at him and stared right back. He really actually looked at him. It was hard to ignore the power behind that stare.

Maybe it was thirty-six or so hours in hell, or the blood and grime, or maybe it was all that groping he’d done under the guise of faked confusion. It was hard not to laugh out loud at how Bucky had handled the intrusion in front of Natasha. No one expected that of Steve.

But that staring thing. Bucky watching him; the invitation was clear. Steve was done with backing down.

 

Bucky felt it too.

The shield slipped from his hand and clanged to the floor, neither of them noticed it. A strange sensation filled his belly, something close to anxiety when Steve crossed the elevator to stand inches from his chest. He sucked in a small breath when Steve’s eyes dropped to his mouth then up again.

Steve inched closer, his body warm against his chest even through the Kevlar vest. He put a hand on either side of him, palms on the wall, crowding but not touching, near enough to send heat through Bucky’s bare arm. His eyes darted to Steve’s hand, then to his lips, then back to his eyes.

He sucked in a breath again and stuttered out a tenuous whisper “I…. hear….voices.”

Steve looked confused then resolved, he murmured “I know, I don’t care...as long as you hear my voice too.” He leaned in slowly, his eyes half closed, a kiss being brought in.

Bucky stammered “I see ghosts,” as he turned his head away from the kiss.

Steve pulled back only by a breath, “I know; as long as you still see me.” He moved closer again.

Their lips brushing before Bucky protested in barely a whisper against Steve’s mouth “I killed people...I did bad things...I don’t deserve this.”

Steve sighed as he pressed his forehead against Bucky’s “I don’t care, you deserve this. We both do.” Bucky started to say “I’m a bad...” but Steve’s mouth covered his words and took them away.

 

Bucky let Steve in; the kiss was hard and hungry; all mouth and tongue driving into his mouth, taking from him what he was more than ready to give up. He kissed Steve back matching his hunger; taking what he’d dreamed about for years.

Steve’s hands moved from the wall to Bucky’s skin, one hand on his arm, pinning him in place, tightening his grip, fingers dug into his bicep, a thumb pressed deep into the muscle, tightly holding him, a flash of the pain from their real fights sent a burning sensation through his body.

Steve’s other hand wrapped around his throat, fingers caught up in his hair, pulling lightly, a thumb stroking along his jaw, his grip holding him in place, pulling a gasp for air when they briefly parted mouths to breathe.

The ding of the elevator being summoned barely startled them. Two hands swung out towards the emergency stop button, one flesh, one metal. The elevator jolted to a stop. Their kiss was never interrupted.

Bucky had wanted this for so long he couldn’t remember anything else. Even when they were kids, he’d have wet dreams about Steve; jerk off thinking about the curve of his ass, the slope of his neck, he’d imagine how it would feel to pull at his cock. He’d finger himself and think about Steve; coming silently in the bed at night while he slept curled against his back, never knowing he was the heart of Bucky’s dreams.

 

Bucky stood pressed back against the wall letting Steve have whatever he wanted. But now he wanted something for himself. His flesh hand fumbled along Steve’s body, he stroked his arm, then dropped to his chest, moved to his shoulder, up to his neck, searching desperately for the skin his fingers craved, contact with his flesh somewhere on his body.

He was covered in uniform, Bucky whined in frustration. Steve groaned at Bucky’s whine and pressed his hips hard between his legs driving the whine into a gasp from the intensity of that push.

Bucky pulled out of the kiss enough to pant “What the hell are you wearing?”

Steve let out a gravelly laugh and dragged his tongue along Bucky’s lips as he led his hand to the zipper hidden on the right shoulder. He bit his lip, pulling away enough to let him tug the zipper down across his chest. Bucky sucked in a breath as the top fell open, he shoved his hands under the cloth and pushed it off Steve’s shoulders. His head fell back against the wall, his breath ragged and gasping, he fisted his fingers in the t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

His flesh fingers dug into Steve’s shoulder, dragged across his chest, brushed circles around his nipples. Bucky moaned at the breathy noises his fingers drew from him. Steve pushed in again hungry and invading to kiss him deeper with every touch and aching moan.

Steve found the zipper on the Kevlar vest and quickly, roughly tugged it off of Bucky. He palmed his hands on his breasts, squeezed at the flesh and dragged his fingers down across his belly. The feel of his skin beneath his hands sent hot shivers through his senses. He dipped his fingers below the waist of Bucky’s pants, careful to avoid the bandaged stab wound, he flipped open the button. He kept his mouth on Bucky’s, his tongue deep, their skin pressed hard against one another; he pushed the zipper down and slipped both hands into his pants to start tugging them down.

His cock throbbed with the sensation of his fingers pressed deep against Bucky’s hips, his thumbs exploring the base of his cock, then tenuously daring to stroke along its length; he moaned when he heard Bucky’s whine and felt him shiver from the intimate touch. He palmed his hand along the shaft and wrapped his fingers around its length. He could feel Bucky’s knees drop out from under him; Steve drove his knees between his legs to hold him in place and slowly started to rhythmically move his hand along Bucky’s cock.

Bucky’s mind lost all sense of time or color...everything went white. The sensation of Steve’s hand on his cock sent heated uncontrolled shudders coursing through every artery and vein. His body was starved for touch, desperate for Steve’s hands to hold him down; pin him to the wall, take him in every way possible.

He searched for the opening on Steve’s pants, pulled at the button, tugged at the zipper; his flesh hand struggled to pull his cock free; his metal hand held tight to Steve’s hip.

Steve pulled back from the consuming kiss “I got it.” He pulled himself free; then lifted Bucky’s head to look at him. “It’s OK you know.” He bit his earlobe.

Bucky moaned at the bite but looked uncertain.

Steve whispered against his cheek. “It’s OK to touch me. I want you to touch me.” He licked his jaw.

Bucky reached to caress his cock with his flesh hand. “That’s good.” He murmured, “But I mean this hand.” Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s metal wrist and dragged his tongue along the inner surface.

Bucky’s knees failed again, his eyes closed, as he panted through the overwhelming sensations.

Steve brought the metal hand down towards his cock, and whispered: “I know you can feel with it.” He bit at Bucky’s chest. “I want all of you, Buck.” He dragged his tongue across his nipples. “I want every part of you.” He sucked and bit his nipples; then moved his hips into the tightness of Bucky’s metal fist, groaning softly with every thrust.

Bucky had to let go; the fear of hurting Steve, mixed with flashes of what kind of destruction his fist was capable of, wouldn’t let him keep going. He was grateful Steve trusted him enough to let him hold him even briefly.

He squirmed against Steve’s pressure holding him in place, but Steve wouldn’t have it; he roughly pushed his legs further apart and kept him pinned with one hand on his chest; his other hand working back and forth on Bucky’s cock, bringing a whine again at the pulsing pressure; the precum leaking in a way he had no idea was even possible. Steve’s hand moved from his chest to his hip, then slid across the tender point to send shivers through Bucky before caressing his ass then pushing his pants down further. He kneaded his fingers deep into the muscles; pulled his hips forward against his own, slid his hand down his thigh then one finger found its way to his hole. Bucky gasped into Steve’s mouth.

The sensation of that finger’s pressing careful but insistent contact sent him over the edge. Steve owned him in that moment, no going back, he was done for. He bit Steve’s lip, licked at his mouth, hungry and desperate to be possessed by him. His flesh hand wrapped around Steve's neck tugging him deeper into their kiss; he shuddered and gasped “No..no...I”m not...” He spilled his hot come all over Steve’s hand as he pumped hard to push him through it. Bucky groaned from the pleasure and the disappointment that it was over.

Steve kept fingering his hole even after he came; making little excursions deeper, watching Bucky’s quivering expressions.

Bucky suddenly rolled to press Steve’s back to the wall. He rubbed his body against him, dragged the flesh of their chests together. He looked down at the sight of their cocks pressed close.

He slid down Steve’s body until his mouth was level with his cock. Steve sucked in a ragged breath as Bucky took him down. Licking along the shaft, flicking his tongue at the tip; licking away the precum.

Steve fisted his hands in his hair and held on tight as Bucky filled his mouth with his cock. He pushed gently into his mouth, letting the wet warmth engulf him; it didn’t take long for him to come.

He pulled at Bucky’s hair to warn him but he held tight to Steve’s ass, catching it all, then holding onto him as he slid down the wall; both of them exhausted, raggedly breathing, wrapped around one another. Bucky curled between Steve’s legs, his head nestled on his bare belly. Steve continued to gently finger Bucky’s ass. Their panting breaths slowly settled.

 

The elevator phone rang. Steve stretched to answer it. “Ah, yeah, hi.”

“You boys OK in there? You need us to rescue you?”

“Nope. We’re fine. Just a….malfunction. Should be there in a few minutes.”

He dropped the phone and wrapped his arms and legs around Bucky.

 

“I’m sorry, Buck I wanted our first time to be….different...better.” Steve ran his hands over the contours of his back, traced the muscles; skimmed a light finger over the scars along his shoulder. Laid kisses on the metal shoulder, hoping he could feel them.

“This was pretty great. Steve.” Bucky’s voice was muffled against his belly. He breathed in deeply trying to memorize his scent. Just in case.

“Not in a freight elevator, what the hell was I thinking.”

“That you wanted me. I wanted you. That's all that matters.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

They were all on the quinjet finally. Cassie and her crew were tending to Sam’s belly. Bucky once again refused any medical care.

“You’re so damn stubborn.” Natasha hissed.

He and Steve sat in opposite seats. Staring at one another.

In a raspy low voice, Bucky murmured “I want to do it again.”

Bucky’s eyes were locked on Steve’s with laser precision.

“You are a masochist, Barnes, no fucking way.” Sam blurted out. “That’s it, I’m sayin’ it...you are insane. You nearly got killed and/or captured down there and now you’re saying ‘let’s do it again’ He added in a high pitched whiney voice.

Steve was staring right back at Bucky...the same laser-like stare; intense, meaningful. So meaningful. Natasha looked from one to the other and back again. “Sam. Sam. It’s OK.” She patted him on the thigh and whispered: “He is not talking about the tunnels.”

“Not the tunnels?”  
“Nope. Not the tunnels.”

She squeezed his thigh and winked.

Steve smiled.


	26. Unicorns Wear Black When They're Spies

 

Bucky sat on the quinjet across from Steve; he had that quiet over-the-top intense look he had mastered as the Soldier only this one had some distinctly provocative overtones.

Steve searched his memories of D.C. and Bucharest for anything familiar.

“Nope. Mostly just dangerous as hell. Not the kind of provocative he was exuding right now, not like that look right there.” The look across the aisle was full of energy. Not the blank stare at the TV screen look, or the “I’m haunted by my demons” look, this look had energy, sexual energy. A whole lot of pent up “I want you,” kind of energy that alternately drove waves of excitement through every fiber of Steve’s body and kind of really scared him as well. “Where the hell are we going with this?”

His exhaustion was catching up to the head injury; he blinked hoping Bucky would look away.

He didn’t.

“How can he be so intense all the time?” Staring back at Bucky...was work. Bucky was work. Wild, moody, petulant. Steve hated the thought that he actually agreed with Sokolov, Bucky was unruly, difficult, needing discipline, not her kind of discipline, maybe Steve’s kind.

“Where the hell am I going with this?”

He decided to take an inventory of Bucky’s body; he tore his eyes away from the intense steel grey eyes. He was a mess; dried blood on his head, face, chest, well everywhere. The wounds on his legs were still oozing a little. The torn T-shirt hanging like a rag around his abdomen; the Kevlar vest was barely intact from the onslaught of bullets it had taken.

Steve decided he might have to send a thank you note to the manufacturers; “Thank you so much. Your vest saved my friend; my boyfriend’s life. Sincerely, Steve - Rogers - former Captain America - now Nomad. Bucky Barnes’ boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? Friend? Pal? What are we now?”

He shook his head, the loose and tangential stuff apparently was contagious.

His gaze went back to Bucky’s face. He was smirking; he had clearly seen and enjoyed Steve’s eye excursion over his body. His filthy, bloody, hair sticking up, intense yet enticing body; all things that sent electricity straight between his legs.

“Rogers, we need to talk.” Fury’s body filled his vision; blocking his view of Bucky.

“Rogers!”

“What!” Steve reluctantly shifted his gaze to Fury.

“We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.”

The quinjet had landed while Steve was musing about Bucky. Jonah was half carrying Sam off the jet while Alex held the IV bag. Natasha wasn’t far behind. Cassie was reassuring Sam that he still had all of his intestines. They headed for the clinic.

“Where’s Sharon?”

“On her way to the compound right now.”

“The compound? Why not here? I want to talk to her now.” Steve stood up to face Fury.

“Just take it easy Rogers all in good time. She’s heading for the compound I have people with her and I fully intend on getting to the bottom of her involvement. But we still need to talk.”

“Fine. Let’s talk on our way to the compound.” Steve stood and moved past Fury. “Come on Buck.”

Fury stepped between Steve and Bucky again.

“Rogers, I need to talk to you alone for the moment. Sorry Sergeant Barnes nothing personal.”

Bucky tilted his head and unfolded from the seat. A rush of dizziness washed over him but he was gonna be damned if he passed out in front of Fury at this point. He stumbled a step and defiantly called back “Class dismissed.”

Steve reached for him but Bucky pulled away.

“Buck wait.”

“See ya, Ma enjoy the parent-teacher conference.” He waved a metal middle finger at them as he departed.

“This is not gonna work Fury. I’m not his keeper. If you have a problem with him, you need to talk to him.”

“He’s compromised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have bad news, Sokolov’s escaped. My people contacted me while you were in the tunnels. She’s on the run and we have good reason to believe she’ll go after him.”

Steve’s brain scrambled for the next best response.

“She’ll go after him.” He drawled out slowly. “What’s your plan, Fury?”

“We go after her. We have some leads, she hasn’t been gone long.”

“Keep us posted.” He needed to get to Bucky.

“What’s your plan here. With the widow free and the intel we’ve gathered, the house is compromised.”

Steve knew where Fury was going with this but asked anyway. “Suggestions?”

“Our compound is safe. 18 story former missile silo not far from here. State of the art security. He’d be safe there.”

“So we’re back to locking him up for his own good?”

“Not what I said, all of you would be safe there. But yes he’d be locked in.”

“And free to leave when you say so.”

  
“He’s compromised, Rogers.”

Steve shook his head and shot back “We’ll be in touch, Fury,” as he headed off the jet.

 

 

Bucky was lying on his back in the bed of the pickup truck; feet dangling.

“So, I”m grounded.”

His tone was flippant but Steve could hear the anxiety bubbling beneath it.

“Fury wants you to do what, take away my TV; sure. I don’t watch it anyway. I ain’t got a phone, no games, you already took away my internet privileges so what’s the punishment?” He waved his arms, “Lock me in my room? Sit in the corner for a week? Wait, wait, I know,” He sat up abruptly, with a wild-eyed look, “You’re gonna beat me, starve me.” His pupils went black as his anxiety driven rant turned darker. "Cryo again, tame me, control me….”

Steve’s hands caught his face “Buck stop it.”

Bucky grabbed at Steve’s hips, pulling him between his legs. He panted through the panic; Steve cradled his head against his neck.

“I’m not gonna let him do anything to you.”

“Let’s go home. Steve. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I need my fucking meds.” His voice vibrated against Steve’s neck sending shivers through him.

“Listen, the house is compromised. Hydra knows about it.”

“I don’t care, we can take them you and me, and the shield.” He tugged him closer, wrapping his legs around Steve’s.

“Listen to me, come on.” He lifted his head to make eye contact.

“Fury’s gonna be pissed and suspicious when he realizes we let Sokolov go.”

“Sokolov?”

Steve felt a wave of guilt for not telling Bucky everything before now.

“Yeah, the Widow, her name is Sokolov. Gieta Sokolov. She’s been a Hydra agent for years, a Widow, as you know, an independent contractor, playing the field.”

“You mean, Mother?”

“She’s not your fucking mother!"  "I'm sorry, I mean...she’s not...she’s a monster that hurt you, forgive me if I get pissed when you call her that.” Steve started to pull away but Bucky held on tighter.

“Ok..not Mother. It’s just a name.” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he tried to nuzzle back into his neck.

Steve felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him. Hard and deep. To fill him and take away all the pain and confusion if he could. He tugged at his hair; lifted his chin to find Bucky’s ear and drew the tip of his tongue along the soft edge; gently grabbing hold with his teeth; all he wanted to hear was Bucky’s soft whine. He reveled in the sounds he could pull from him with each slow progression of his tongue around his ear, down his neck, across his jaw. He was surprised at how his cock was half hard just with the smell and taste of Bucky’s skin, sweat, blood and all. He wanted more, right there on the tarmac, in the back of a pickup truck. He nuzzled his way to Bucky’s mouth; the feel of his tongue deep inside his mouth, the breathy soft moans that tumbled from both of them brought him to one thought: make Bucky moan and writhe in every possible way he could dream up.

His hands dropped to Bucky’s pants, Bucky had already opened Steve’s.

He jumped off the tailgate and dropped to his knees in front of Steve. “I’ll take care of you, Stevie.”

“Wait, no, Buck stop it.”

Bucky had already pulled him free and was ready to ‘take care’ of him when Steve grabbed his shoulders.

“Stop!”

Bucky sighed and slouched down onto his haunches. “What now?”

“Your back, it’s black. What happened to you? How the hell did I miss this earlier.”

Steve was concerned about his back but more concerning was Bucky’s readiness to ‘take care’ of him; as if Bucky’s needs were secondary. Natasha’s word ‘vulnerable’ actually floated by in his vision; with neon lettering.

“Damn.”

That wasn’t a conversation he was willing to have on the tarmac as the sun set with Hydra looking for them.

“Buck, what happened.”

“We just spent a week fighting. I won but some guy tried to make me ‘more pliable’ or something. It didn’t work...I bit his dick off.”

“Seriously? I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“Nope.”

Steve pulled him up; Bucky’s knees buckled.

  
“Ok, we’re going to the clinic. A decision is made.”

“No more doctors.”

“She’s not a doctor, remember, she’s a nurse practitioner.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“Dodger?”

“Dodger, wake up.”

Bucky thought he could hear someone nearby but the sleep was so completely amazing he refused to acknowledge them.

“Dodger, come on.”

Something hard and pointy jabbed at his belly not far from the stab wound.

He brushed it aside “Cut it out, Rogers.”

He slipped back into the dream of Steve. Kissing; as usual, naked; as usual, fingers in very personal places: as usual but this time Steve had a stun prod in his hands, he was looking at him, naked, waving around the stun prod much too close to Bucky’s private parts. The sound of it powering up made him jerk.

“Dodger wake the hell up!”

The stun prod slammed into his chest-in the dream-he jolted straight up in the bed in real life. “What the hell!” He was staring at a pink-haired girl he vaguely remembered with a broomstick held out like a sword pointed at his chest.

“You sleep pretty sound for an assassin with a bunch of bad guys after you.”

“What?”

He wiped the telltale drool from his chin and yanked the sheet up to cover his bare chest.

“Get up, get dressed, we’ve gotta go.”

Alex threw some clothes at him and headed out of the bedroom.

“Where the fuck am I?”

She was long gone.

 

He did as he was told and headed after her.

“What is going on.”

He remotely remembered getting to the clinic; Steve actually carried him in.

“How sweet.” He recalled Romanova’s words….he’d never live it down.

Something about dehydration, kidney damage, bleeding, etcetera, etcetera. The usual post-brawl aftermath. Hydra would’ve tossed him in cryo to recover. Now Steve slept next to him for two days and forced disgusting vanilla milkshakes down his throat. “What? No peanut butter?”  
He wasn’t complaining about Steve sleeping next to him, he was revolted by vanilla.

He’d only missed three days of medications; so rough, but no seizures or ghosts; more than usual, or Mrs. Stark. A relief.

Everyone took their routine turns distracting him each time he stormed around the upstairs apartment saying “I’m going home.” Therefore, they kept him corralled until this moment when the girl with the unicorn on her neck woke him like he was some sleeping bear that would wake hungry and only had eyes for unicorn meat.

“Can I get some answers? Like where’s Steve?”

He followed her downstairs into the darkened clinic; pulling on a black sweatshirt to go with the matching black jeans. “Steve didn’t pick these out did he?”

She huffed, "You are too weird.”

The clinic was dark; all of the shades were drawn; the only light was from a lamp in the hallway.

  
She was dressed all in black. “Black goes with everything, even unicorn.” He mumbled as he watched her check the pile of weapons laid out on the exam table.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this but, you’re scaring me, a little.”

He wasn’t so much afraid of her per se, but the way she handled the pile of weapons.

“Hey don’t point that at me.” He put up the metal hand towards her just in case.

“Safety’s on, no worries.”

“Sure. Actually, let me start here. Who the hell are you really?”

She tossed an Uzi at him. “You better hang onto that.”

He looked around the room and then at himself. “I’m dreaming right. I can have some stupendously realistic dreams and this is one of them.”

“You are not dreaming. Dodger. This is real and we need to go.”

She dragged the weapons into a duffle bag that was twice her size and pointed at it when she headed for the back door.

  
“Ok let’s go. Get that and let’s go.” She barked as she pointed to the bag.

He stood his ground. “Ah, I don’t take orders anymore. Except from Steve, certainly not from you.”

Bucky stalked forward to come between her and the door she was about to open. He slammed it shut.

“Time for being cute is over. We are not going anywhere until I get some answers and we will go when I feel it’s time to go.”

  
She stared at his sternum.

“I could kill you right now.” She offered.

“Bigger men and women than you have tried.”

“Ok. My name really is Alex. I really am a medic."

“But….”

“I work for Fury.”

“I’m supposed to take your word for this? Two days ago you had ripped jeans and some kind of purple thing on your head now you look like me, only smaller.”

“We’ve been assigned to protect you.”

  
Uncharacteristic laughter started small and grew. 

“I really could kill you.”

The pressure in his groin stopped the laughing. He looked down to find a knifepoint delicately nestled right where he would bleed out in seconds should she choose to employ it.  “You better be prepared to use that.”

“I am.”

It took half a heartbeat for him to disarm her. His metal hand hitting hers; flipping the blade up and away, so his flesh hand caught it on the fly. He spun her around by her wrist and pinned her against the door.

“Do over. Where’s Steve? And don’t waste my time with lies. I’m just as cranky as you think I am.”

He held her pinned by her wrist to the door, on tiptoes. She tried some Widow-like moves but fortunately, he’d fought with the best and she was not up to par.

“He went to the compound to talk to Sharon.”

“Prove it.”

“We can call him.”

“Why are you trying to drag me out of here.”

“Hydra’s on their way. We need to get out and get to the compound. It’s the only safe place.”

“That blonde woman is in the compound. How safe can it be, she’s the mole.”

“Yet to be determined? Above my pay grade? All of the above.”

“Who are you anyway. I know Alex is your name but pink hair?”

“Former DEA.”

“You’re too short.”

 

Bucky was set to debate the finer points of who, what, where and why but a light flashing into the room dropped them both to the floor.

She hissed in a whisper “Told you we should have….”

  
“Shut up! I hate a told-ya-so.”

Bucky crawled to the duffle and slid it across the floor. He checked the Uzi clip and grabbed two handguns from the bag and scooted back to press against the door next to her.

“Where’s the get-away car?” His sarcasm was barely contained.

“Across the parking lot.”

“You didn’t think to park next to the building? What kind of an agent are you?”

“There weren’t any spaces close when I got here.”

“You coulda moved it.”

The door handle over their heads jiggled softly.

“Shit.”

He pointed at the stairs leading to the apartment.

She shook her head ‘no.’

He pointed again.

She shrugged and ‘no.’

He pointed the gun at her head and tilted his head a bit coyly.

She complied and headed up the stairs, Bucky right behind her with the duffle.

“They both checked the windows front and back and met in the back corner.

“We’re surrounded.” She whispered a bit breathlessly.

“There are six out front, four out back, three SUVs on the street, with three drivers, and someone calling the shots on a phone. Oh and a van, a big one. Probably meant for me.”   “Then again, maybe it’s for you.”

She stared at him.

“You ready?”

“For what exactly? We’re on the second floor surrounded?”

Bucky smirked. “We’re getting out of here.”

“You’re crazy. Sorry.”

The flashbangs came lobbing in the windows upstairs as the teams broke through the doors front and back downstairs. The place just about exploded with the onslaught enough of a distraction to buy them a few seconds of lead time. With the first hit on the doors, Bucky tossed the duffle through the window breaking the glass before landing on the roof of a car in the parking lot.

“Right behind you.” He tossed a sheet over the telephone cable that ran to the corner of the building just beyond his reach.

She nodded resolutely but he could see the fear on her face. How her body stiffened with the deafening fire below.

  
“Listen, Alex...medic...former DEA...now with Fury….you got this.”

  
He grabbed her by the arm and shook her….then lifted her to the window's edge and tossed her towards the wire.

“ _Quite the pep talk...she looked terrified...and then you tossed her out a window.”_

“Shut the fuck up…..I work alone.”

He followed her out the window and leaped, he grabbed the sheet but his weight was more of a strain than hers and the wire jerked, the sheet slid further, getting closer to where she was hanging. They hung swinging in the air but the soldiers hadn't seen them yet. The sheet was sliding downwards towards Alex, he'd slam into her in a few seconds. The wire jerked again. His weight pulling the moorings, it wouldn’t take another jolt, they’d both fall. He let go.

His knees groaned at the impact with the cement; he stumbled forward and pushed up to run, or hobble to where she was hanging. He gestured wildly for her to let go. The soldiers were still oblivious; They only had a few seconds.

“Come on, come on.” He coaxed her more to himself than out loud.

She froze looking down at him waiting with arms wide.

“Do it. You got this, come on.” He gestured again.

Then he remembered something Steve told him about her. How she saved him when Steve was waffling about his life. 

He pointed to his wrist with one finger and wagged his finger side to side and said quietly “Tick-tock, tick-tock.”

She let go.

He caught her.

He tossed her to her feet to sprint ahead of him doing an admirable job of zigzagging through the inevitable fire as the soldiers finally caught on.

He tossed the duffle in the bed of the truck and ran to the driver’s door.

Alex was there.

“Huh? No way. Gimme the keys.” He actually whined.

“Get in! No time. I got this.”

He reluctantly dove into the back of the truck as she peeled out of the parking lot with three SUV’s not far behind.

“ _What’s this? A new sidekick, Soldier?”_

Bucky groaned at the Voice.

“ _Your_ _handlers_ _are getting younger every day.”_


	27. Permission

 

Bucky squeezed himself halfway through the back window, “Damn it. It won’t go forward if you strip the gears!”

Alex ignored him, maybe not so purposely since his flailing arm was able to snag the collar of her jacket. But the scream of the old GMC’s engine, zipping gunfire and the terrifying image of SUV headlights inches from their tail at 60 miles an hour were testing her field skills.

“This is not escaping. You’ve never done this before, have you?”

She shook her head "No" enthusiastically and took a sharp left. The turn did nothing for the almost healed stab wound or his kidney as he was thrown nearly over the bed wall; his foot caught the duffle bag just before it bounced into the street.

A sudden flash of blue lights just ahead put a whole new twist on their adventure. He grabbed at the opening again, “Go straight, go through them!”

“Do what!”

“Drive right for them! Do it!”

She floored the gas, scrunched her shoulders up and closed her eyes.

“Do not close your eyes!” He lunged through the window and grabbed for the steering wheel.

“ _Soldier, you’re going to get shot in the ass this way. What happened to all those Winter Soldier skills?”_

“Open them!” He screamed in her ear; mostly on purpose.

Her eyes popped open.

“Right down the middle!”

Alex threaded between the two police cars so close the truck would need a new paint job.

“ _This truck’s gonna need a lot more than a paint job after tonight. Wilson’s gonna be pissed. This is the second time you’ve wrecked the truck, and you know how much he hates you even when you’re sleeping imagine what he’s gonna have to say about...”_

“Stop! Just fucking stop it!”

Alex hit the brakes hard.

Only Bucky wasn’t talking to her.

“ _You ok Soldier?_ _Who knew a man your size could actually fit through a window that small.”_

Bucky would have been really angry if he wasn't wrapped around the stick shift, his head jammed against the dashboard, one foot out the window; wondering if this was all just payback for being an asshole in general.

“Dodger? You ok? You said to stop. You ok?”

He was able to give her a thumbs up while he croaked out “Drive!”

The three Hydra SUVs fell away in the rearview mirror; blocked by the police, one of which pursued them but not with much enthusiasm.

“OK. Regroup up ahead there’s a carwash. Go past it, then sharp right. Double back.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was back there,” he gestured with a flourish towards the tiny window he had just come through “Enjoying the scenery for the third fuc...third time.”

“Third time?"

“Yes. Three times. You drove past the same spot three times. This is an escape. Not crop circles!"

“You know about crop circles?”

“Yes, I know about crop circles.”

“ _Soldier. What are crop circles?”_

He kept any further conversations with the Voice, private.

Bucky stood in the shadows near the overhead door at the carwash; an Uzi slung over his right shoulder, one pistol in the back of his pants, another one tucked in the front.

Alex sat on the tailgate nearby.

She took a breath preparing to speak.

A metal finger shot to within a millimeter of her lips.

It had been twenty-eight minutes. Twenty-nine minutes since they had sheltered there courtesy of Bucky’s strength and skill at hiding. Although hiding wasn’t his usual modus operandi.

“I think we’re ok.” He whispered when he instinctively knew it had been exactly thirty minutes.

“Great, now what.”

“We sit. Quietly.”

Bucky needed time to think. Not so much about what the next move was but to replay the last day that he could recall clearly. He wanted to understand why Steve left him alone sleeping naked, with the pink-haired junior spy sitting next to him. He was not happy.

“ _You’re never happy. What’s new about this?”_

He again refrained from engaging verbally with the Voice in front of company.

 

“Where’s Steve?”

“He went to the compound to talk to Sharon.”

“Did he say anything before he left me sleeping, naked, cold, unprotected, vulnerable...”

“He said you’d say that.”

“What else did he say.”

“To tell you not to worry.”

“That sounds like him. What else.”

“That I should take you to Fury’s compound.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You’ll be safe there with him.”

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing else.”

“Where’s Romanova?”

“She went with him. Don’t you want to know about Sam?”

“Sam who?”

“Sam Wilson.”

Bucky shrugged. “Go get some rest. I gotta think.”

“I’m not tired. I”ll keep watch with you.”

“I work alone.”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

“Yup. You need to get in the truck and stay there.”

He grabbed her by the collar and pushed her towards the cab. “I’ll call you when and if I need you.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

The text from Sharon was nowhere near as cryptic as their reconnection a few months earlier.

“You want to talk to me? You told my boss I’m Hydra and then run off with that piece of shit. Let’s do this.”

“Steve, this is not a good idea.” Natasha actually hissed at him.

“What part of it? Meeting her? Leaving him behind? Lying to him? Going alone?”

“All of it.”

“No matter what Fury has to say it all adds up. She has to be the one. Who else had access to the Widow, the mission plans.”

“I don’t disagree, but meeting on her turf?”

Sam chimed in “Actually it’s Fury’s turf at the compound unless you’re thinking he’s part of it.”

Steve shook his head, “Every chance he gets he wants him at the compound to ‘keep him safe.’ I don't trust anyone at this point.”

Natasha peeked in the bedroom, Bucky was on his belly, sprawl sleeping across the bed, he almost looked peaceful except for the faint twitch in the metal arm hanging off the edge.

She worked an eyebrow at how the sheet was strategically wrapped around his ass, just enough to technically be covered but leaving a clear invitation for Steve to come back to bed; to finish what they’d started.

The upstairs apartment at the clinic was small with thin walls; it had been an interesting night of keeping watch and listening to whatever it was they were doing to one another. She thought it would’ve been easier to listen to outright fucking, rough and loud than to overhear the soft moans, secretive words, and muffled gasps, it was all so provocative. Their embrace was clear in her mind’s eye.

She pulled the door shut.

“He’ll be wild when he wakes up and finds you gone; when he finds out you walked in there alone; left him behind. As far as the lying part; hard to lie to him if you don’t say anything at all.”

Steve let his anxiety show with pacing; window to door, door to stairs. He ran his hand through his hair, glanced at the bedroom door, once, then again. He didn’t want to leave him behind but nothing in the past twenty-four hours led him to believe the compound was a safe place for Bucky.

Fury wasn’t relieving Sharon of her duties; there was no clear answer about how the Widow had escaped and Fury had doubled down about the “He’s compromised” bullshit once he found out they’d let her go.

But even Steve couldn’t explain why the laser tracker that Bucky had clearly planted wasn’t working; although he blamed Sharon. Fury insisted she had no access to block it.

Leaving his skeptical eye on Bucky alone.

He stood outside the bedroom, hand on the doorknob, replaying the argument from the day before.

”You saw me tag her. You were standing right there. You think I’m lying to you?”

“It’s not registering. You, we, let her go. Fury’s skeptical, more than skeptical. He wants you to come in.”

“Come in? So he can throw me in a cell? Turn me over to who, the CIA, the Raft, Hydra?”

Steve tried to console him; rein him in from yet another panicked episode full of fear, blown pupils, and anxious pacing. “That’s what he wants but that’s not what we’re doing.”

But Bucky kept falling into fits of anxious raging followed by exhausted sleep; Steve always within reach, riding the waves of his emotions.

“Steve. Let him sleep. I’ll stay here. You two go meet Sharon.” Sam appeared just over his shoulder.

Steve reluctantly agreed “Tell him, tell him, we went there. Tell him not to follow me if I don’t come back.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky nestled himself under the air vents on the roof. He chased down his racing thoughts and surveyed the landscape with the night vision scope he’d found in the duffle.

His mind was roiling with anger, fear, panic; any and all of the above.

“What the fuck, Steve, you left me there, asleep, alone.”

“You went to meet her without me. You picked Romanova, not me.”

“Why? Why not tell me, wake me up. We could run together. Fuck them all.”

“ _Soldier, he didn’t want you with him.”_

Shoulders shifted to refocus his thoughts.

“ _Maybe we shouldn’t trust the little girl._ _”_

A sigh, a deeper sigh, the quiet night air of fall cooled his heated reactions. The scope told him there was nothing moving of concern; no men anyway. He spotted a dog scrounging in the trash; two cats facing off in someone’s backyard. He let his thoughts drift backward, floating back to a few hours earlier lying in bed with Steve.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<,

“Buck, you asleep?” Steve whispered against the soft pulse of his neck, his face buried deep in the tangle of his hair. Bucky didn’t answer; he wanted that moment to stay put; talking, even a murmur might break the connection. He just kept breathing, long, deep, slow sleep-like breaths not wanting anything to steal Steve away, even his own words.

He hadn’t felt this kind of warmth in a lifetime, the press of Steve’s body against his back; his fingers spread across his chest, the pad of one nearly brushed against his nipple, he willed it closer but didn’t dare move to make it happen, afraid it would disappear like some pleasant hallucination.

He’d had this kind of dream before, only to wake surrounded by the frigid cold, alone.

Steve didn’t seem to believe he was sleeping; he spooned in closer, thigh pressed to thigh. Bucky tried to not focus on their hips; the warm closeness of Steve hard against his buttocks; his own cock was half erect just from melting into Steve’s body...only to get harder when the press of Steve’s growing erection teased at his ass. He worked hard to ignore it all and let the moment just exist.

Steve had made another rule. ”No sex.” Bucky was perplexed. He whined, knowing completely what that would do to him but Steve was unmoved. Something about being equals, taking care of one another, going slow, blah, blah, blah.

“Slow? The cow is outta the barn, Steve, what was that in the elevator?”

“It was sex. Yes, it was great. It was. I want more.”

“Great, let’s do it.”

“Not that kind of more. More of us.”

Bucky had frowned, then whined one more time then “So cuddle? Is that it? Cuddle, seriously?”

“Well, I guess you’d call it that. I’ll try to think of a better word but for now yes cuddle.”

“We can at least be naked, right?”

“Yes, naked.”

“Great.” Bucky knew Steve had nerves of steel; laser focus and the willpower of a granite monument, but when it came to this; to himself, he felt certain he’d convince him the "no sex" rule was stupid.

So he rocked his hips back, softly brushing skin to skin; not demanding but gentle reminders of his nearness, asking for more with the slow-paced but insistent contact of his ass pressed into Steve. Heat spread up his spine, across his belly when Steve met his insistent touch with his own pushing response. Bucky breathed a gasp when he tugged him closer, harder, that finger finally connecting with his nipple; he slipped his foot between his legs, trying to make more flesh contact.

He was starting to understand what the "no sex" rule was about. This contact, slow, sensual, warm washed over him, filled his body with heat like he’d forgotten even existed. He imagined Steve was growing into his skin; becoming part of him, filling him in a way that sex had never done. This was what Steve meant, more, more of this.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve sat on the bike outside of Fury’s compound. He’d asked Natasha to give him a few minutes alone. He needed to think. Think about Bucky. He hated himself for leaving but had no choice. Hated that he’d left Sam with wrangling Barnes again. But it was the only way to keep him safe. The whole thing was so damn fluid it was hard to know what the next right move would be.

But now, he wanted a few minutes to himself to think about Bucky; about what they had just a few hours earlier.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It was clear the "no sex" rule was going to be a bust. He couldn’t resist him; at least it bought them a few hours of foreplay that was actually amazing. The way Bucky had slowly rocked back into Steve told him he wanted something greater than the flesh to flesh contact they’d been reveling in.

He’d listened to the steady deep cycle of his breathing, that sounded like sleep but not quite. Maybe near to that edge of drifting off; he knew Bucky wasn’t asleep; the growing pull of his leg between his own, the way he rolled his back against his chest a counterpoint to their hips connecting. Steve wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever; wrapped around him, tangled legs and arms.

Steve breathed it all in. Deep, steady breaths that filled him with memories of art class and Brooklyn, aftershave and starched white shirts on Sunday. He was that skinny kid again, hugging the bigger boy in the dark pretending to sleep as he listened to Bucky touch himself, bringing himself to come. Steve so wanted to reach around him then, take hold of his hand, thread his fingers into his, help him, satisfy him. But the younger Steve never dared to take what he wanted; different times; he never dared to tell him how much he wanted to be the one undoing him.

Now he laid behind Bucky an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, a hand spread on his chest, bringing as much of their skin into contact as if they would melt into one another by the sheer heat of their body’s touch. Every inch of him tucked in behind; breathing in his soul, his scent, clean, strong and as familiar as his own; more so. Steve rocked gently forward meeting his hips; letting the point of contact linger long enough to pull the faintest of moans from Bucky. He tucked his knees up closer, tugged his leg tighter so each measured thrust would lock him into the embrace; he wanted Bucky to feel this contact; feel how Steve would engulf him, become part of him, hold onto him forever. No doubts, no uncertainty.

He raked the stubble of his newly growing beard rough across Bucky’s skin drawing a faint hiss that sent a twinge of blood to his cock.

“New look, Rogers?”

“Yeah, giving it a try.”

“Not changing your look cuz of anything I told you, right?”

“Nah, just something different.”

Bucky caught on right away. Steve couldn’t shake the story of the handler that looked like him, the one that had used him.

“I don’t want to remind you of him.” Steve rasped against his throat as he pulled him closer, so Bucky could barely breath or move, driving out any hint of tension.

“Steve, you don’t. Stop it, you’re nothing like them.” His metal hand reached back to pull at his hip, stroke his thigh, asking for more.

But Steve wanted to make this last. Wanted to wipe away all prior memories for him. He didn’t miss his word choice “them” nearly confirming what he had started to suspect, it wasn’t just one. He wouldn’t ask any more questions; he would try to make this moment count to wipe away all the bad memories and fill him with good ones.

He nuzzled along the scars, careful, uncertain, he dared to let his lips brush the raised white and tortured skin, wishing his touch could erase all the angry marks, and the pain like the tide erases a word written in the sand. He used his tongue and hands to will the shoulder to heal and transform to flesh again leaving the tragedy lost in the past. Bucky’s back tensed against his lips, nearly pulling away until Steve’s hand rode up his chest, embraced his throat and pulled him in tighter, closer than even Steve thought was possible. Possessing him, holding him so all the brokenness could be forged back together with Steve as the bond.

“Does it hurt when I touch you here?” His hand rested firmly on the metal shoulder; he’d never touched his arm like this; softly, with care.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Bucky’s breath caught.

“I don’t want to hurt you but I want to touch you. Everywhere, every inch of you.” Steve had pulled himself up to rest his chin on his head, to try and meet his eyes.

“Not pain, not like that. It’s ugly, it’s a weapon.”

“It’s part of you. Not who you are. I want to touch it, all of it, all of you.”

Steve tugged at his head to bring him in; the faint light from the street lamp outside the window let him see his face; connect with those eyes telling him about all that guilt. He wanted to take that away, make him forget about the shame. He kissed him. Deep, languid, filling his mouth with his tongue, filling his emptiness.

He wanted to show Bucky he wasn't afraid of the scars; wasn’t put off by them, that the arm, the scars outside and in, were part of both of them now.

“Will you do it?” Bucky’s voice was hesitant, barely a whisper when he pulled from the kiss; his hips rocked back against Steve more insistently, the press of his ass, sent blood rushing between Steve’s legs.

“Do what?” Steve’s hand was hot against Bucky’s abdomen, a finger barely brushed into the thick dark hair.

“This. Do this.” Bucky led Steve’s hand to his ass, even as they kept up the gentle rolling that had them both in that dream-like state that soft pleasure could produce.

“No, not now. Let’s just stay like this.”

“Put your finger there.” Bucky’s intense whisper nearly broke Steve’s resolve. His mind was floating with the rhythmic closeness, the scent of his skin, the rough flesh pressed against his, he wanted to stay true to his promise to himself; to Bucky. No sex. He had been disturbed by Bucky’s insistence on taking care of him, he wanted the next time to be different.

But the little gasps and moans that came from Bucky with every rolling movement between them were melting his determination. His hand followed his insistent fingers.

“Do it. Push inside me.” The breathy whisper drew a moan from Steve as well.

“No. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me if you do it right.” His staggered breath sent waves of indecision through Steve’s willpower. “I’ll show you how.”

Steve’s cock was throbbing now, his resolve was melting away; he let Bucky lead his fingers to his rectum, his metal finger pressed against his flesh one, gently pushing it inside of him. Bucky’s gasp of air shook Steve’s core.

He’d fingered his hole in the elevator encounter but this was so much more intimate with Bucky helping him; showing him how to satisfy him.

“We need lube. I”ll hurt you.” But he kept going, a single finger slipped past the tight muscle, withdrew then slipped in again. Bucky’s fingers never letting his hand stray too far away.

“Lube?” He rasped between quiet moans drawn out by each excursion.

“Yeah, to make it easier for you.” He hesitated, not wanting to follow the thought that Bucky didn’t know about lube, that whatever they did to him didn’t even include basic comfort.

Steve rolled away.

“Hey, come back here.”

“Yeah, if we’re doing this, then we’re doing it right.” Steve knew he’d never be able to hold to the "no sex" rule. He had the lube ready just in case.

"Buck, I need to ask you something."

"Why are we talking right now?"

"It's important. I need your permission."

"Yes."

"You don't know what I"m talking about."

"Yes I do and the answer is yes."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky was warm despite the cold night air. He sat curled against the vents. His thoughts engulfed by the memory of Steve’s touch; he closed his eyes and let the sensations take him.

He’d helped Steve’s hand find it’s way to his rectum, showed him how to delve deep inside of him, finding the right spot, how to put pressure there, to draw out the moans that made him bite at the back of his neck; grasping his hand over their heads.

“Two now. Steve, two fingers.” His voice shook.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s OK. Have to stretch.” He reached back again to squeeze two of his fingers together; press them to his ass; he lunged towards his mouth in a hungry kiss, as Steve’s fingers found their way inside of him. 

Their breathing deepened, ragged and gasping; Bucky pushed back hard against the stretch of his fingers; anxious to feel the pulse of Steve’s cock inside of him.

“Deeper, three now, use three, push deeper.” Bucky grabbed the mattress and drove his hips back onto Steve’s fingers; his cock was wet with precum, he could feel Steve’s wetness on his back, they were close; he was close, the ache of wanting Steve inside of him was hard to control.

“Steve, do it, fuck me, do it.”

“I can’t, I can’t.”

“Yes. You can. I want you inside of me.” He pushed Steve backward; rolled towards him to straddle his hips. He settled down on him, writhing slowly, matching his breathing to Steve's, to the slow rhythmic movement of their cocks pressed together.

Bucky poured lube on his hand. "So this helps?"

“Yeah, Buck.”

He wrapped his lube soaked hand around Steve’s cock and stroked slowly, watching him. He wanted to see Steve’s pulse flutter in his neck with each pull against his shaft; he squeezed tight then released bringing soft gasps of breath from his throat; he studied the line of his jaw, his cheekbones, memorizing this look right now, not the boy from years ago, not the Avenger, but Steve in the throes of Bucky’s owning him, bringing him to orgasm.

This was everything he’d ever dreamed of but never dared believe would happen and he wanted this memory burned deep into his soul.

Bucky smirked as he drew a gasp with his fingers pressing hard against the tip of his cock; he squeezed again to pull an arched back; he stroked hard again and gasped himself when Steve sat up to catch his hair and tug him into a consuming kiss that dragged a soft moan from both of them.

“Stop playing with me, Barnes.”

“Not playing, this is serious business, Rogers.”

He rose up on his knees to bring the tip of Steve’s cock to his ass.

They hovered there for a moment. The soft pressure of Steve pushing up gently sending shivers through his body. He closed his eyes.

“Look at me,” Steve whispered.

Bucky shook his head but opened his eyes.

“Look at me. I want to watch you.”

Bucky suddenly felt more vulnerable than he could ever remember.

Steve’s hands brushed his hair back from his face; he dragged his thumbs across his cheeks, toyed with his lips, dropped to carefully wrap around his throat. “I want to watch you when we do this. See your eyes when I fill you when I make you come.”

He panted through the panic at this kind of intimacy. It was Steve, he was safe, he wanted this. But to let him watch him, keep his eyes open, let Steve not just take him physically but own him.

Bucky hesitated.

“Buck? You ok?” Steve’s hips pushed up, teasing his hole, each gentle thrust going a bit deeper. His mind was drifting away with the warmth; the pressure.

“Yeah, you own me, no matter what Rogers.” He relaxed his hips, locked their eyes and helped Steve’s cock slide into him.

It wasn’t hard to watch those blue eyes, they led him through it all; captured his mind and soul.

Steve groaned “God, Buck.” His hips pressed forward until skin met skin.

Bucky shivered but never broke the gaze; his breath deepened, sweat covered his back and hips.

“Fuck me.” His voice broken and intense, it was a comment and a command. His fingers gripped Steve's shoulders to brace against the push of Steve's hips.

Steve did what he was told, driving deeper, watching Bucky’s eyes, black pupils, his body shaking under the strain of Steve's cock going deeper until he brushed the spot that made Bucky gasp; his back arched and strained with each drive inward; his head fell back, breaking their gaze, Steve tugged at his hair and pulled his eyes back to his.

He pushed Bucky's knees wider, tugged at his hips and thrust in again, finding his prostate, drawing out a moan that sent a shudder through his body. He worked to find it again, thriving on making him come undone. The breathy sounds his efforts drew from him went straight to Steve’s cock; throbbing his cum into Bucky; barely able to control the spasms chasing up his belly.

Bucky’s vision went white when Steve found his prostate again and again. He’d felt this before, but now, with Steve. It was consuming. His hand met Steve's on his cock, but Steve pushed his hand away. “I want this.”

He watched his hand stroke gently, caress him, pull the gasps and come, bringing him to orgasm without the pain, without the rudeness of the angry need he'd known before. 

Bucky fell forward onto Steve's chest, mouths pressed together, hips slowly moving through the spasms; he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, tugged close, knees tight against his skin, he wanted to climb into his body. He belonged to Steve. 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

A car moving slowly past the building roused Bucky from his thoughts; he wiped at his eyes. Not crying; it was cold, making his eyes water. He’d tried calling Steve a dozen times but his phone was turned off. He remembered one of the last things the Voice had said

“ _Maybe we shouldn’t trust that little girl.”_

“You think so, pal?”

He looked out at the night sky and asked one more question.

“Where are you Steve?”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Steve started walking towards the compound. A commlink in his ear. Natasha to his right, they had a semblance of a plan. Kick Sharon’s ass was top of the list. Find the Widow second. Get out alive third. Steve had a very uneasy feeling about all of it. The clinic phone line was down, Sam wasn’t answering and the girl with the pink hair was a Natasha wanna-be assigned by Fury to protect Bucky.

“What could go wrong?” Natasha shrugged.

“Everything.”

He took one last look at the night sky.

“Where are you, Buck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  This beautiful art is by the super talented taking_meds. Her art can be found on tumblr and on deviantart.  
> This piece served as inspiration for my humble attempt at describing Steve and Bucky in this chapter, I have used it here with her express permission. <3


	28. Sharon Gets What's Coming

Steve’s words were to the point. “I need some answers Sharon, and I need them now.” His attitude, on the other hand, was all about protection.

Sharon stiffened, her fingers curled around the wooden arms of the interrogation chair. Fury had insisted she take a seat; a hard seat with a straight back in the center of a nearly empty room. She half hid the contemptuous glare. “What’s this about? You just gave me your proverbial pat on the back fifteen minutes ago. Now I’m the proud owner of the hot seat?”

“I asked questions, you answered them. You know how this works. Now, it’s his turn.” Fury nodded towards Steve and abdicated the floor.

She huffed, “I have a few questions of my own, so let’s get this going.”

Steve roamed around her, his not well-hidden anger driving his steps, his thoughts raced, tripping over the worry that he couldn’t reach Sam or the clinic; couldn’t reach Bucky. “Lost him again, Rogers.” His own internal voice was growing; adding to his building thesis that auditory hallucinations were contagious.

He settled against a wall to Sharon’s left; looking for its steadiness, his gaze took in the room. Fury sat at the edge of his desk, in front of Sharon’s chair. Natasha mirrored Steve’s position on the right. He brought his eyes and focus to bear on Sharon.

“Why? That’s my question. I want to know why?”

“Why what?” She snapped.

“Why betray us. Why sell us out?”

“I didn’t sell us out. Your precious Dodger is with Hydra, he never left them.”

“Bullshit. He despises them. He brought you credible intel, tagged operatives, and took down three of the biggest operations in the Northeast.”

“That’s what he wants you to think. But he knows the truth. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. What he did was an annoying itch to them; a game to satisfy your pathetic need to believe in him.”

“Back to you. Why betray us?”

“I just told you. I’m the one trying to protect us. I'm trying to get that insanity you call a boyfriend into custody. But you’re too busy thinking with your dick to listen to reason.”

Natasha didn’t miss the shift in Steve’s shoulders, the twitch of a muscle in his jaw. She could see her own words echoing in his head.

“Don’t worry about my dick. Worry about your own ass. Why betray us?”

“Have you asked him about the Widow? Why he didn’t tag her? Why he let her go? How about that whole ‘Mother’ thing. Has he explained that yet?”

Steve’s brow furrowed for a split second recalling the tagging argument; and the one time he’d asked about the widow, how Bucky retreated to the solace of a voice in his head instead of talking with Steve. A faint tightness crossed his chest.

“This isn’t about what he tells me, this is about you; what you know, what you’ve done.”

Sharon crossed her legs and smiled. “How about the classic tale of the Winter Soldier and the Red Room? It’s a fascinating story, really. Sokolov filled in all the first-hand details. You should ask him about it. Everything you’d need for a great drama; intrigue, politics, betrayals, torture, oh and of course love. Requited and unrequited; lovers found and lost.” She flourished a mocking hand to her heart.

“Ancient history.” Steve brushed it off but Natasha could hear his wheels digging ruts, wide and deep. She guessed Bucky had never told him about the Red Room. A fleeting picture of Steve’s ruminating brain distracted her from the exchange. 

Sharon taunted, “He never told you about Alena? Tragic. Like his life, a grand pathetic tragedy.”

It took three determined strides for him to reach her; his hands on the armrests trapped her in the chair. “If you think your stories will shake my faith in him, you’re wrong. You can’t win this game.”

Sharon answered with a defiant glare. “I’ve already won, look at you. You’re ruined; on the run, no shield, no home, all for that Hydra thing. So how’s it feel to be sleeping with the enemy?”

Steve’s anger sent a flush of redness to his face and a spasm across his back. Their eyes stayed locked. He never moved to touch her, but she leaned towards him, eyes darting to his lips, head tilted softly, daring and inviting.

“Enough.” Natasha barked loudly to jolt the impending moment. “I think it’s time for a break. Right Sharon? I for one have had too much coffee.” She darted to snake an arm between them and grabbed at Sharon’s jacket pulling her from the chair. “Let’s you and I go to the little girl’s room.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve was pissed. Not at Bucky, never, not about this anyway. It was all Sharon’s fault. He knew Bucky had secrets; he let Steve know on an every other day basis “Ain’t gonna tell you what they did to me, Steve, no way, no how, so quit ferreting around.”

This was different, Sharon taunted him with his past; said a name, implied a story, true or not. Steve was loathed to admit; he was jealous of Sharon for knowing and jealous of Alena, whoever the hell that was. She was a secret Bucky kept from Steve. That hurt in a strangely rational yet irrational way.

 

Steve joined Fury to take up positions on either side of the ladies room door, waiting for the inevitable brawl that was about to break out. He suppressed the urge to go in and watch, feeling oddly voyeuristic yet satisfying; maybe a bit guilty that he wanted to watch. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before he could at least enjoy the sounds of Sharon getting her ass kicked.

 

“You self-righteous bitch.” Sharon spit out words and a good amount of bloody drool after Natasha unleashed her pent-up frustration in a flurry of punches and a satisfying elbow to the jaw.

Sharon regrouped. She started a left straight punch but pulled it to throw a vicious roundhouse kick that rocked Natasha into the hot air dryer.

Undeterred, Natasha pushed forward.

She jabbed a left, it was blocked. She followed with a quick right uppercut, landing in that sweet spot right under the ribs.

A gratifying "oofff" was short-lived.

Nat took a knee to her groin, she countered with a rattling headbutt, added a leg sweep to bring her to a jarring thud on the tile floor.

Sharon rolled to her feet. “You know he’s crazy; damaged goods.”

"Correction." Natasha bounced lightly.

"We don't say crazy." 

She unleashing a rapid-fire onslaught of side kicks; knee, stomach, cheek. 

"It's pejorative." 

Sharon was left sprawled face-first on the counter. She spit blood into the sink. “Pathetic then.” 

Natasha stepped closer but Sharon drove her shoulder into her chest slamming her backward against the stalls.

A knee to Natasha's belly; repeat the knee. She sucked in a breath.

Sharon wrapped an arm tight around her neck; a knee grinding into her thigh.

A sharp elbow jammed into Sharon, shaking her. 

The chokehold tightened.

Natasha drove her hand back snaked between her legs, her fingers dug deep; snagging a fistful of crotch.

The move brought a flash of Barnes’s “I bit his dick off” story from two nights previous. She nearly lost her grip from laughing at the quick picture of Steve’s horrified look as Barnes launched into the gory and filthy details of the encounter, embellished at every telling.

The point was well taken. The choke hold gave a fraction, enough for her to turn and drive a palm against her carotid sending a fiery jolt to Sharon’s brain; breaking their hold.

They separated.

Sharon laughed between her panting; “Why are you defending him?” She angled for position.

Natasha counter-angled impassively, calculating, maneuvering. She threw a foot against the counter, pushed off to leap forward for a sweet landing on Sharon's shoulders. She wrapped around her upper body; an arm snaked around her neck. Natasha took a few seconds to reflect that Barnes would truly appreciate the move; especially since it wasn’t being used on him.

She whispered in her ear. “Because he’s my friend.”

Sharon staggered backward reintroducing Natasha’s back to the air dryer; several times. Her grip loosened; Sharon spun to her left, backed into the stalls, spun again.

Natasha lost her grip. Her feet hit the floor. She scrambled to regroup.

“How quaint, a friend. I’m sure he’s your BFF.”

They circled again slowly; assessing.

“I know what happened in the Red Room.” Sharon was persistent if nothing else. “The lovely Alena. I know what came out of that little tryst of his. He hasn’t told you about that has he?”

Natasha countered. “So, still got a thing for Rogers.”

“Hand of Hydra; you don’t just walk away from that. He has reasons to be loyal to them. He hasn’t told Rogers about her, has he?” 

Natasha didn’t bite. “Gave up your job, your reputation. All for someone who left you standing at the airport.”

“Gullible idiots. You bought the whole poor me story. PTSD. He’s so full of shame.”

Natasha took a step back. Paced left then right, another step back. “Men. They don’t get it, do they? Always thinking in the moment. Always about sex. Has to be hard for you to know he’d rather be with a man. A dysfunctional asshole that needs constant reminders to eat, shower and put the toilet seat down.”

Sharon huffed a laugh. “I know what you’re doing. Whatever I might have felt for the other self-righteous idiot is long gone.” She waved a dismissive hand at the doorway.

“Well the love part might be gone but the jealous part is still around.” She stepped back yet again. “I’d love to hear more of the Red Room story though. How about we share some girl talk.” Her girlfriend smile was followed by a cartwheel that ended in a side kick that landed Sharon hard against the wall of mirrors over the sink; shattering the glass.

 

Steve and Fury finally dove in when the sound of the battle died down. They found them in a stall. Natasha riding Sharon like a mechanical bull at a sleazy honky-tonk bar; except the bull’s head was in the bowl sucking down gulps of toilet water. Arms and legs flailing wildly to remove the rider after the longest eight seconds timed out.

 

“How’d it go?” Steve quizzed as they headed for Fury’s office.

“Fulfilling.” Natasha tossed her hair back from her face.

“Great. I love it when a plan comes together.”

“Steve, we need to talk about what she told me.”

“Right. We’ll go over it with Fury.”

“No. I need to tell you some of this without him.” She held her step.

“I don’t believe anything Sharon has to say about him. I want to know where Sokolov is, and whoever Sharon is working for.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“None of this is simple.”

“No. But that story from the Red Room days, he had an affair.”

“So. Ancient history. I"m supposed to be jealous?”

“Well you are but that’s beside the point.”

“I am not jealous of a dead person.” He whispered.

“You nearly climbed in Sharon’s lap when she said her name. Just saying.”

Steve was bone tired. He pictured Bucky striding in; all cranky attitude, sass and a big scoop of his moody shit to rescue him from this mess. He’d hand over the bike keys, wrap himself around him, and go anywhere; New Jersey, Maine, the Grand Canyon. Anywhere but here. He closed his eyes and stifled the long-suffering sigh that itched to be expressed. “OK. Shoot.”

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky was not a happy man.

“Don’t you want to know about Sam?” Alex molded her body to the passenger door; poised to sacrifice herself to the roadway at his first twitch in her direction as if she could outmaneuver him.

“Birdman? No.”

He pressed the groaning truck to its maximum speed leaving a whirlwind of churned up dirt heading for the storage facility that housed their gear.

“Really. You should hear about Sam.”

“Sam. Birdman. Falcon. Whatever.”

“Whatever? That’s so high school. I thought you were super old.”

“ _Are you reconsidering the no killing rule? I think now would be a good time.”_

“Ok. Once again I hate agreeing with you. But yes. It is officially on the table.”

Alex took a deep breath. "Great! Sam..."

Bucky furrowed his brows, “Nooo. Not you.”

“You just said it was on the table.”

“Wrong. I wasn’t talking to you.” He dropped his head on the steering wheel.

“ _We’re missing Hydra right about now, aren’t we, Soldier?”_

“No. No, we are not. We are missing Steve.”

“Hey! Pay attention Dodger!”

The front tire caught a crater of a pothole, sending the truck bouncing sideways to sail across a ditch, landing in a field of old corn stalks. The engine died on impact.

“Fuck. Just fucking great.” He slammed the dashboard with his fist and tried the key again and again; nothing.

“Dodger."

“Do not speak.”

Bucky climbed out and slammed the door. Not as hard as he wanted to; he still had some sense that the truck was theirs and needed to be preserved. At least for now. He was haunted by a cadre of ghosts but it was Wilson’s words that nagged at him, "We can’t have nice things if we wreck stuff."

Bucky walked away.

He tried to understand why Steve left him behind.

He hated it. Hated that Steve was protecting him. That was his job. Protect Steve; always Bucky protecting Steve. Not this, being vulnerable shit.

“So what, I eat spoiled food; big deal I forget the phone. I barely showered for seventy years, why shower now?” He kicked at the dirt and groaned at the sky.

“Stupid punk. I’m supposed to be protecting you not the other way around.”

What really hurt was the look; sadness. Steve tried to hide it but Bucky always saw it. “I’m an assassin, dork, I see this shit.” It hurt to see Steve’s regret for what they’d lost, hidden behind Steve’s Rules and jokes about messy hair, ice cream and cleaning his room.

“I’m not your dumb kid.” He mumbled into the night air.

 

“Alright. Tell me about Wilson.” Bucky pushed Alex into the driver’s seat; he moved to tinker with the engine.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I. Am. Sure.”

“He went after Steve.”

“That’s it? He went after Steve. And left me asleep, naked, alone, vulnerable.” A head wag for emphasis.

“No. Yes. Well, he left you with me.”

“I’m so reassured.” He muttered openly.

“ _You may be reassured but we are not reassured.”_

Alex countered. “I saved you from Hydra.”

“I have no words right now.”

“ _This is new. You’ve been so chatty lately not like before without your mind.”_

Bucky rested his head on the fender, _“_ Did he say anything before he left me in your expert hands?”

“He said to bring you to the compound when you woke up.”

“ _Soldat. This does not fit with our protocol.”_

“Interesting. Then he took off after Steve? With his bird wings? Took off after him?”

“Ah. Yeah with the wings.”

“ _Soldat. D_ _idn’t we see that?_ _”_

“Well, that settles it then. Must be a party at the compound everybody’s there. Except us.”

“We should go there. Steve said so.” Alex turned the key.

“Right. Steve said so.” Bucky slammed the hood down and let the Voice have his say.

 

“ _Well, first of all, Steve said do not go there. You don’t want to go there._

_Fury wants you there so this has to be a bad thing._

_That blonde woman who works for Hydra is there, who the hell knows where Mother is but we’re betting she’s not far away from the blonde woman so that means she’s there too._

_This junior Hydra agent doesn’t know what she’s talking about_ _._

_You’re not fooled by her right?_

_No. You’re not fooled. She’s trying to trick you into going._

_What about Wilson? You think she killed him? No!_

_Probably locked him in the basement or sent him out for ice cream."_

Bucky felt certain the Voice was mocking his loose and tangential thought process. He started to understand Steve’s constant look of confusion and felt sorry for him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve opened the throttle of the bike and sped down the highway towards their fate. Natasha held tight to his waist. Ultimately, the throw down in the bathroom persuaded Sharon to give up Sokolov’s location. Fury and his crew weren’t far behind.

The Upstate New York countryside had several de-commissioned missile silos all just waiting for some rich individuals to drop serious cash at rehabbing them. Fury had found one; Sokolov had found another.

“Everyone’s moving underground.” Natasha bemoaned the lack of a view.

Steve wasn’t holding out much hope that they could wrap this up fast and by some miracle, he’d find Bucky asleep back at the clinic. The lack of communication was a dead give away.

He pushed the speed and replayed Natasha’s questions before leaving.

“What’s the deal with the medic protection detail?”

“Friends close; enemies closer.”

“Sam will keep an eye on her.”

“Counting on Bucky’s bullshit meter. It’s directly proportional to his level of paranoia, which as we know is at ten.”

“Twelve.” Natasha had countered.

“What?”

“Not ten. It has to be twelve. Numbers have to be divisible by three. Or is it a multiple of three?”

“Right. The numbers thing. OK, twelve.”

“Rogers. What is wrong with you. I thought you knew him.”

“I do know him. Pretty well, I think.”

“Intimately. We heard.”

Steve covered the blush with jumping on the bike. “Wasting time here.”

 

Now he pushed the bike harder. Crouching into the wind, he pushed aside the Red Room story; compartmentalized the regrets of things not said, deeds not done. He pushed down deep the sorrow for Bucky’s past and put his hope for the future on a shelf in his mind where he could clearly see it but it wasn’t in the way.

He focused on the immediate task: take down the Widow and the man calling the shots.

He’d deal with the aftermath of telling Bucky the truth after it was all over. Sitting on that shelf next to his hope for the future was a pair of handcuffs. The plan; lock himself to Bucky and throw away the key. If he ever saw him again.


	29. A Very Bad Plan

“I was an assassin.” Bucky looked up from fiddling with the engine. It was just a distraction to get her to play out her hand.

_"You could just kill her. Or in the spirit of your new rules, torture her, to tell the truth. Or ask nicely?"_

He shook his head, his go-to for dislodging the Voice's bad ideas.

Cold sleet began to plunk on the hood when he slammed it shut. Alex didn’t jump.

She did startle when he drove the metal fist deep into the fender; abandoning Sam’s counsel that the old GMC was something to be cherished and not abused.

That move gained him the desired effect. It left her with a discernible full body tremor.

His eye wasn’t distracted by the faint shake of her pink hair though, instead, he watched her hand, the one holding the semiautomatic. 

“ _She’s afraid of you."_

The gun barrel shimmied left then right. Her arm dropped down faintly with the weight; it’s sight moving from his face, to his neck, then a jerk back towards his head. The whole scene was familiar, something he’d faced a thousand times before except in the past it wasn't a young girl.

“Make it a headshot.” He whispered. “You can do that right? Shoot a man in the eye from six feet away.”

Even the dark couldn’t hide her uncertainty.

“Here, I’ll help you. I’ll come closer, just a step or two.” He moved along the fender. 

She twisted in the driver’s seat to follow him; the gun pointed out the window.

“Anything less than a headshot and you’ve got a fight on your hands. The DEA taught you that right? Maybe not. Fury then. He knows this.”

“Don’t come any closer.” Her words were as tremulous as her body.

“Nope. Right here is perfect.” Bucky kept his voice low. “Funny thing about memories. The dead are there. So are the living. I remember what I did.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Did I tell you I was an assassin? Hand of Hydra. The asset. A killer of men. Women. Children.”

A calculated step back drew her forward; the hand with the gun extended out the window.

Before she could blink; his metal hand wrapped around her wrist. He pulled. 

The gun went off.

Alex sucked in a gasp then, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Bucky dragged her through the window as he staggered back towards the ground.

She landed on top of him and stammered between sobs, “No! I didn’t mean to." 

He laid splayed on the ground glaring up at her straddling him.

"I lied! I know where Sam is. I’m not Hydra, please don’t kill me!”

"Get off. Get the...heck off of me." 

"Where did I shoot you?" She patted his chest and neck.

"Stop it." She landed ungracefully on her ass as he rolled up and flexed his shoulder. 

“ _She’s just an impressionable_ _child_ _. Like the girls in the Red Room. Maybe we shouldn't kill her yet.”_

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Should we knock? Or sneak in the back door?” Natasha glanced sideways at Steve as he studied the blast doors wrapped in fall’s withering vines.

“Good chance she’s lying.” He muttered as they stood on a low hillside overlooking a dilapidated complex.

“No doubt. She’s pretty pissed at you.”

Steve offered a confused look.

“You stood her up. Then you ran off with, you know, the Winter Soldier.”

“I didn’t stand her up. Or run off with the Winter..." He quit trying to defend himself.

“She lost her job, her career, her reputation. All from helping you and an international fugitive. Then you lost her phone number.”

“Can we please focus here.”

“I’m focused. I think your plan sucks but I’m focused.”

Steve turned towards the road below them as Fury’s vehicles slowly pulled up out of sight of the complex.

“I didn’t run off with the Winter Soldier.” He corrected under his breath. “I ran off with Bucky.”

“Fury’s here with Sharon, it’s go-time.” She whispered.

Steve followed her down the hill. “Wait. My plan? I stole the idea from you. Get captured. Work from the inside.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The plan discussion with Fury before leaving his compound was succinct.

“We need to get in there and take them down.” Steve had every intention of kicking in the front door and fighting his way through each and every occupant.

Fury was skeptical. “A full assault on a 1950’s underground missile silo? You and whose army? Not mine. I don’t have an army.”

“Then we knock on the door and fight our way through to the top guy.”

“Rogers, if I saw your angry face on my front door surveillance cameras I am not letting you in.”

Steve paced out his frustration. “We, I will find a way in. You heard the chatter on the police scanners. Cops chasing black SUV's chasing a GMC pickup truck. You can send your troops out there to intercept Hydra’s goons, that works for now. And I have faith in Bucky’s ability to outrun them, for a while anyway. But we can cut off the heads with this move. So either help me get in there or I will go on my own.”

Natasha intervened. “I have an idea. It involves pain. Handcuffs. And some acting. You up for that Rogers?”

“I live with Bucky. Of course, I’m up for that.” He answered her skeptical look with, “Real, we are very real. Not acting. But I’m up for acting in this situation and I refrain from commenting on the handcuffs. Or the pain.”

“Stop while you’re ahead, Steve.”

Natasha’s plan was classic old-school spy stuff. Pretend to be captured, get brought into the lair, get free with a hairpin or paperclip, open the doors for reinforcements. It involved beating one another up, an oddly satisfying task for both of them.

Steve was insistent. “They’ll never believe us without this.”

She pulled her punches at first.

“Nat, I heal fast. Do this.”

The end result was an impressive array of black, blue, purple and red colors overlying diffuse swelling and one closed eye. For Steve.

He refused to hit her. So Fury did.

Unfortunately, part of the plan relied on the precarious faith Fury had in Sharon’s commitment to his offer of leniency. They all hoped it would buy her loyalty for a couple of hours if not for Steve then at least for Fury.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sharon sent a tight-lipped smile towards the well-camouflaged surveillance camera at the entrance to the Widow's silo. A panel by the door slid open, she blinked, then brought her eye close to the scanner.

The entrance didn’t open right away.

“Come on.” She tapped her boot on the gravel.

A familiar woman's voice answered. “Sharon my dear, you’re late. And you have company.”

“Yes. Unforeseen delay. The company. I think you’ll be pleased.” She turned to the vehicle and waved abruptly for the car to roll up so the camera could capture the occupants.

Sokolov smiled as she watched the images on the surveillance feed.

“Very nice surprise Ms. Carter. I see you have a Black Widow with you.” Natasha was curled in the back seat, hands, and feet bound with zip ties.

Sharon opened the trunk to what appeared to be a battered and unconscious Steve in handcuffs. She drummed her fingers nervously on the trunk while the old Widow took it all in.

"Impressive. You did this yourself? Subdued both of them?"

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Sharon. It made her next move a bit easier. "Yes. I did. I drugged him. I kicked her ass. And I shot Fury. Now here we are. Romanova is loyal to herself, you understand that Agent Sokolov. As do I. No one's going to look out for us except us."

She stalked up to the video feed. "Do you want him? The Soldier. That's all you talk about. The Asset. Pasha. Well, here you go. I am about to deliver the bait. He'll come running to you when you hang Steve Rogers out. He'll sniff the wind for his blood like the pathetic dog he is and come running. So, let us in and we get on with this mess or I drive off with the perfect Steve fucking Rogers and this Widow and I work our own deals with the very rich and numerous entities that are interested in your precious Soldier." 

Sokolov began to clap. "Very good performance Ms. Carter. I'm not a fool as you know. But I do agree with your assessment. My child will come running home if he knows his lover is here and in danger. Very good indeed my dear."

The blast doors slowly ground open. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

A scrap of boots on the concrete floor caught Sam’s attention.

“That you Barnes?” His voice was muffled and dry; a byproduct of the dusty hood he’d been wearing for the past several hours.

He was trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving by that little shit of a girl. All the twister moves he applied to his escape efforts only gave him rope burn and a monster cramp in his thigh that shriveled his balls and brought tears to his eyes.

The toe of a classic black Gortex combat boot slipped into view. As much as he hoped that toe was attached to Barnes’ size 11 feet standing in front of him; he had been dreading this moment when Barnes found him tied up and hooded. Bested by a munchkin.

“Come on.” He rasped out.

Sam was confident Barnes had made it out once Hydra hit the place. The horde of soldiers running in and out of the clinic sounded like a scene out of a melodramatic cop movie, complete with the squeal of tires and shouts of, “He went that way.”

He took solace in the image of him smirking as he flipped them the metal finger salute as he sped off into the sunset.

Sam whiled away his time in bondage struggling and imaging all the ways that he and Barnes could torment the girl. Although he took personal satisfaction in the idea of tormenting her himself. There was a perverse feeling of glee when he thought about how Barnes could likely take payback to a whole new level even if he had turned over a new leaf and wasn’t torturing or killing anyone anymore.

He felt supremely betrayed that she’d lured him into the basement by appealing to his mother’s proper upbringing of being a gentleman.

“Sam I need help lifting a box.” He loathed the way she formed the words with so much fake innocence. He, of course, complied immediately, abandoning his post as the official Barnes Sitter only to find himself with a needle full of lorazepam stuck in his butt as he went down for the long nap. On the upside, she helped him to the chair so he didn't crack his skull on the concrete floor.

 

Now he was hoping that all that Wintering savvy would fall into place once they’d gotten away and Barnes would come to his rescue.

“Say something. It’s you right?” His words were muffled.

The boot moved one way then the next. No words. No movement to untie or unhood him.

“Come on, I know you’re enjoying this shit. Get me out of here.”

The boots moved behind him and stopped.

“I know it’s you. I can smell you. That damn coconut shampoo in the bathroom. I know you used it. Stop this shit and let me out.”

The point of a knife pressed against the back of his head and faintly grazed his skin.

“Barnes? Or not? Hydra uses coconut shampoo?”

The knife slowly lifted the hood off his head and tossed it to land at his feet. He twisted around to catch a glimpse of whoever was behind him but they kept just out of his vision pacing slowly. Sam’s thoughts drifted to that stalking predatory stride from D.C. “Shit. You are Barnes right?”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder; a black fingerless glove. The knife tugged at the rope on his hands.

“Enough with the games. Let’s get out of here.” He pulled up and out of the chair falling to his knees as the ropes around his legs trapped him. He swung around kicking to get free. “Barnes!”

Bucky stood in the shadows of the room. Quiet and still. He had clearly raided the storage facility for the black leather vest and a wealth of weapons. The shield was leaning against the stairs. His face was blank; gray-blue eyes flat and cold.

“You OK? Let’s just cut to the chase. If you’re Barnes then talk to me. Anything. If you’re triggered, you’re wintering then let’s just throw down and get the ass-whipping over with.”

Bucky didn’t respond at first.

 

“Fuck you Birdman.”

“Never thought I’d be glad to be called Birdman.”

“You let a two-legged unicorn tie you up.”

Sam wanted to argue but decided it was a mute point. He was right.

“You’re dressed for a fight, I see.” He took in all that was Barnes at the moment. A darkly lethal threat of guns and knives; and cold determined anger. Sam had seen him as the emotionless killing machine in D.C. and the self-loathing, reluctant fighter in the tunnels. This was different. He was pissed, well armed with weapons and 70 years of experience in his memory. Not to mention an optimized mood stabilizing medication regime on board. This was going to get interesting.

Bucky checked the clip on his Glock. “I’m going after him. You can come along or not. Up to you.”

Sam rubbed his wrists. “He specifically said not to follow him. No matter what.”

“He told you to tell me that?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Did he tell you to stop me?” He pulled the shield onto his forearm.

“No. He didn’t mention that come to think of it.”

“Then you’re job is done.”

 

Sam dug his uniform out of the destroyed apartment. “Hey, how’d you find me?”

“The girl told me.”

“You beat it out of her right? Please say you at least made her cry.”

Bucky shook his head and paused at what was left of the back door. “She cried. Does that help?”

“Yes." Sam did an internal fist pump.

They headed for the pickup. He threw the flight pack in the back and paused to study the array of weapons and a distinctly human shaped duffle bag. 

“I’m afraid to ask. But here goes. What’s in the duffle bag?”

“A body.”

“I was kidding. About hurting her. Is she alive? I hope.”

“You still alive?” Barnes poked at the bag with the rifle he pulled off his back.

A stream of profanities spewed forth putting her in a league with Barnes himself.

“Why the bag? Just curious.”

“She shot me.”

“Awkward. Do you need bandages? I know where they are back there in the clinic.”

Bucky answered with an icy glare. One of his best looks. 

“No really. Are you shot?” Sam persisted.

“Sometimes having a metal arm comes in handy."

"Did you just make a pun, well an almost pun?" 

Bucky sighed.

"No really. I'm so proud of you. An almost pun. Wow."

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sharon’s voice was muffled by the trunk but Steve was sure he heard her say the planned dialogue.

“We worked together. Romanova and I. He likes to get on his high perfect horse and bark orders at everyone. She’s done taking orders from them.”

Sokolov sounded skeptical. “Why would she turn on them?" 

Natasha had predicted that.

Sharon hissed. "I told you. The same reason I’m done with him. I've lost everything by being loyal to him and he acts like he doesn't even know me. Instead, he ran off with that piece of shit, your precious..."

“Be careful, child. The asset has my favor. You should keep that in mind.”

“Fine. She helped them and got the same raw deal. A fugitive from the Accords. A life on the run. Besides, she's no fool, there's money to be made."

Steve shook off the loose cuffs and leg irons and braced for the next part of the plan. Attack the first person to open the trunk and work his way through the building until he had the Widow and the man in charge.

Natasha's sudden moan was unnerving. They had hoped Sokolov would bite on their flimsy offering. At least give Nat the benefit of a talk. The zip ties were rigged, she could get away if needed. But the next sound of a soft thud followed by another moan left no doubts. The plan was falling apart before it got started.

Footsteps approached. A click. The trunk started to rise.

A male voice with a distinctly Russian accent, “Captain Rogers. It will be a pleasure to spend time with you.”

The trunk rose. Steve dove forward to crash into the darkly dressed man in the center of his vision. He wasn’t expecting to be airborne and thrown against the wall.

He scrambled to regroup and charged again. The man was taller than Steve, broad shoulders and rock solid when his fist connected with his gut.

Steve found himself sprawled in a slide across the floor to crash into a generator.

He rallied with a roundhouse kick, a flurry of punches; a front kick. All of his efforts were met with a hand pushing him aside or an impassive immoveable stance.

A pause to take in the man before him brought back hints of the past. His opponent finally came into clear view.  A dark and thin face smiled at him. Tight red-hued skin clung to the skull as if all the muscle and flesh had been eroded away to leave only ligaments and bone. It wasn't his enemy from years earlier but Steve allowed the quick thought that somehow Hydra had tried again. And failed.

"We have never met if you are wondering. I know, I must give you pause. But I do know who you are. We will soon become great friends."

Steve threw everything he had into the next punch but that face took it with barely a turn. The back-hand that followed sent Steve crashing in a heap against the wall. A gloved hand caught his throat, dragged him up to his feet and pinned him.

He struggled against the choking hold as the light faded. The mind can do funny things when it starts to fade. The grip around his throat felt like Bucky's metal hand.

Steve thought he could hear his voice, and just as the blackness fell, he could see him standing over the man's shoulder.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Are you gonna answer that?” Sam glanced at Bucky and pointed at the cell phone bouncing across the dashboard as they sped down the highway towards Fury’s compound.

He ignored him.

“That phone is ringing. It’s Alex’s phone. Maybe we should answer it.”

“I will. In a minute.” He pushed the truck faster.

“What? Here. I’ll get it.”

Bucky hit the brakes hard and threw it in park.

A muffled "Fuck." Wafted in through the broken back window.

“Don’t fucking touch it.”

“Got it!" Sam threw his hands up. "Let it ring.” 

 

“ _This is it, Soldier._ _Time to pay the price for betrayal._ _”_

 

Bucky stared at the insistently ringing phone a few seconds longer before hitting answer.

Sam watched his face as the conversation unfolded.

Sharon’s voice was clear. “Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky let her wait. He needed the coldness to grow.

She kept talking.

“Sergeant Barnes. Or should I say Asset?”

His voice was steady when he finally engaged. “Where is he?”

“All in good time. We need you to come in.”

“Back to this again. I’m hanging up.”

Sharon's smirk played in her voice. “You won’t hang up. You want to know where he is.”

Sam could see the tension settle in his jaw even if his tone stayed passive.

“Let’s not play games. I know you have him.”

“This is no game, Soldier."

“I want to talk to him, now.”

“In time.”

“Put. Him. On the phone.”

The Widow's voice overrode Sharon's. “Let him talk to his Captain.”

Bucky could hear the shuffle of people moving, the phone changing hands.

A familiar breath, then, “Buck?” Steve’s voice was thick and slurred.

“Rogers.”

Bucky had a hundred things he wanted to say. “You’re a fucking idiot, why’d you go without me, you left me sleeping naked and alone with Birdman watching me.”

He managed. “You OK?”

“Fine. Don't you dare come here."

“First. This is about getting me there and second no fucking way I leave you with that monster.” 

Steve rasped. “You need to run, now. Right now.”

"This is just stupid. I want the address." He yelled at the phone. "Where the fuck are you?"

“It’s over. You can’t help me. Run and don’t look back.”

“Is that what you’d do, Rogers? Run and leave me?” 

A deep male voice with a Russian accent cut in. “You want to know where your precious Captain is? Yes?”

This voice was new but the tone of amusement brought back cold memories.

“Yeah. I want your fucking address. And whoever the hell you are, he better be alive and in one piece when I get there. Or I’ll take you apart...”

The phone went dead. A few seconds later an address appeared.

 

“ _Soldier,_ _y_ _ou can’t win this fight. Hydra, Mother, they always win._ _Y_ _ou know this.”_

Bucky staggered down the road behind the truck trying to catch is breath. A deep ache overwhelmed logical thoughts. He abandoned the truck when he felt the rush of panic grab at his chest when the phone went dead.

He didn’t want to come apart in front of Wilson or the girl.

"Keep it together, Barnes. Think. You can do this. Shit."

“ _Go home, Soldier. It’s what you should have done months ago. None of this would have happened i_ _f_ _you had just gone home. Go now. Maybe she’ll let him live._ _”_

 Bucky knew what he had to do. What he should have done all along. It was time to face the past. 


	30. Bucky's Plan Isn't Much Better

CHAPTER 30

“You let him go in there alone?” Bucky tracked a menacing line so that Fury was less than an inch beyond his fingertips. His rage was held back not by self-control but warned off by multiple weapons aimed at his body.

“It was his plan and he’s not alone, Romanova is with him.” Fury wiped the blood from his mouth.

“Great, let’s go home then, they’ll be fine.” Bucky continued his prowl.

Fury defended, “He went in there with the kind of plan he comes up with. Full speed ahead. He may not call himself Captain America but he’s still serum enhanced, still…”

“Bullheaded.”

“I was going to say an Avenger but bullheaded works just as well. He enlisted Sharon’s help.”

“Sharon? How?” Bucky ran his hands through his hair, trying to steady the growing tremor.

“ _You’re not very good at taking those medications, pal.”_

His muttered, “Stop it” was missed by Fury.

But not by Sam, “Barnes, come on,” He slipped in close beside him, ”Let’s take a step back." 

Bucky veered and kept pacing, “What kind of help?”

“She brought them in as prisoners. Get them inside, they’d get free."

“Prisoners? Did he trust her to help them? He trusted her?” Bucky’s barked laugh fell into a groan as he bent to brace his hands on his knees.

His pause erupted into a lunge at Fury. The force slammed them back against the SUV. “You let him do this, you let him walk in there as her prisoner?” The metal fist choked Fury's protests, a knife pressed to his gut stopped his struggle.

Shouts of “Stand down” and “Let him go” went ignored.

The cold hard press of a Beretta deep against his neck got his attention. “Stand down soldier or it’ll all be over right now.” A faceless man had a clean kill shot if he put a hair’s worth of pressure on the trigger.

Sam’s muffled voice came through, “Back off! I got him. Get the hell off him!”

An arm snaked through his metal elbow, a hand grabbed the back of his neck, the familiar voice again, “Not this way, Barnes, let’s get out of here. You can’t help him if you’re dead.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky tugged away from Sam’s hold as he dragged him towards the pickup. He stalked to the bed, threw the tailgate down and grabbed the Barrett sniper rifle. The duffle bag kicked at him with a muffled “Hey!” He ran the knife up the bag precariously close to Alex’s face before dragging her off the tailgate by her heels. “Get the hell out of here. Go find something productive to do.” He shoved her away from the truck.

“I am productive, I helped you didn’t I?” She straightened her clothes and came back at him.

“Time for being cute is over." He mumbled as he reached to drag a bag of ammunition closer. "This is life and death. You need to go home.”

“I don’t have a home, anymore." She leaned in nearly under his arm. "You - got it wrecked.” Alex stared at him with defiance.

Bucky stopped. “I know." He sighed and faced her. "I’m...sorry. I’m a bad man with a whole lot of bad people after me. That’s why you need to go."

She grabbed his right wrist. “The gold bracelet, the cord. You’re not wearing it. Why?”

“The cord?" He pulled away and stepped back. "Ah, I - I traded it.” He retreated towards the cab of the truck.

She followed. “It was a gift. It was yours. You traded it?”

“Yeah, it was mine." He dug through an array of trash and guns that littered the cab. "I get to do what I want with it. So I traded it.”

“I hope it was worth it, giving it away like that.” She persisted standing within inches of him.

Bucky pulled the shield from the cab and carefully fit it to his forearm. He mumbled, “I thought it was worth it at the time. Not so sure now.” He pushed past her.

She started to follow, “Where is it and who has it?”

He spun around, grabbed her jacket and shoved her against the truck, “Why are you so focused on that stupid cord, it wasn’t real gold, or else I woulda sold it or kept it."

Sam slipped an arm between them, "Okay, no fighting kids."

Bucky pushed him away and stepped back, "Sorry I gave it away. I’m an asshole that way. Get over it." He stalked towards the hill overlooking Sokolov’s compound.

“It was yours, it was a gift.” She yelled as he climbed, leaving her and Sam behind.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 Sharon whispered. “Things are fluid, very fluid.”

Natasha maneuvered to prop her back against the wall. She nodded and pulled at the zip-tie on her wrists. They didn’t give according to the plan. “Let’s cut to the chase here. Who’s side are you on right now?” A glance past Sharon told her she was in a cell that overlooked the center of the silo. Two guards stood beyond the open door.

“My side.” She tugged at the zip-tie around Natasha’s feet and looked over her shoulder.

“Listen, Carter, you knew about that red-faced Hydra operative when you led us in here.”

“Not that you’ll believe me, but no, I did not.” 

“Bullshit, you knew what we were walking into here.” Natasha leaned into her.

She pushed her back, “No. I did not know he was a freak even beyond those two freaks you follow. I spoke to him on the phone. That’s it.”

“Back to my question. Whose side are you on?” She grabbed Sharon's shirt.

Sharon pried at her fingers, "I told you, Romanova," then slipped something small and hard up Natasha's sleeve. "My side. It’ll all be over soon. So no need to worry." She stood and jumped back from the groin kick that Nat unleashed despite being hog-tied on the floor. "Rogers has a broken leg. The man-child is on his way. Sokolov will die a happy woman when the Soldier dies with her. But not before the brains of the operation gets his revenge." She strolled to the cell door. "That’s it, in a nutshell, I’d say. Not that you can do anything about any of it. You’ll die right here when it’s all over.”

The cell door slammed behind her. “She’s secure gentlemen. She won’t be around much longer so if you’re interested." She winked. "Later when I’m gone, you might check her out.” 

Natasha shot her an obligatory snarl then repositioned to face the wall. She murmured quietly, "So, a quick recap and a gift. Sharon, you are a piece of work." She fingered the pocket knife tucked up her sleeve.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

The red dot sight was steady and squarely centered between Sam’s eyes. He held his hands up. “They’re my friends too.” He’d followed Barnes to his hilltop vantage point.

“Let me help you get in there.” He kept his hands in the air waiting for that red dot to move along.

“You can’t help me.” Bucky finally relented and holstered the Glock.

“I can help. Two’s better than one. I know you’re really a plus one with that arm and serum but you can’t do this alone. You don’t even have an advantage, they know you’re coming, they know you’re here already and let’s face it, that Voice is so loud I heard it myself...”

“Stop it. I get it. I’m a mess but this is it all I got. A screwed up head, a wealth of weapons and no plan. Except get him, get them out alive.”

“ _Getting pretty hot in here, Soldier. Anxiety’s ramping up, a memory-wipe would be helpful right about now, clear out the clutter, free your mind to think.”_

He shook his head slowly.

“That Voice offering any sage advice? Like ‘How ‘bout letting Sam help you’ or ‘Let’s work with Fury.’”

Bucky prowled a few steps away.

“Barnes, you can’t do this alone, I know it’s Steve, I know you feel responsible, but he doesn’t see it that way.”

He stalked up to him, “Shut up! Don’t tell me how he sees it, or how I feel.”

Sam put his hands up again, “Fine. Not telling you anything else. What do they expect you to do?”

He resumed prowling, “They expect me to give up.”

“Or, they hope you will.”

“They expect me to find another way in.” He ran his hands through his hair and kept pacing.

Sam stepped into his path. “So which is it? Give up or find another way in?”

Bucky stopped but kept looking at the ground.

“Barnes, they know you’re here. They think you’ll give up to save him.”

“No. They know I’ll give up to save him.” He muttered, “She knows I’ll give up.”

“Then let’s talk this out because no matter what you decide to do." Sam stepped closer. "I’m going in behind you or with you or by finding another way in. Like it or not I’m in this fight." He pointed at the compound and leaned in, trying to make eye contact. "That’s Steve and Nat in there. Our friends. So two of us are better than one.”

Alex interrupted with a high pitched clearing of her throat. "I'd like to help."

Bucky rolled his eyes then stalked towards her, “Listen, you two-legged unicorn...”

“Enough with the name-calling!” Alex didn't back up when he got to her, instead, she poked a finger into his chest.

"Whoa, are you out of your mind?" Sam jumped in and grabbed her arm to redirect her finger pointing. “Alright now that is how to lose a hand real quick.” He maneuvered between them.

She pushed to get around, “The cord, who has it?”

Bucky took a step away from them, “Stop with the damn cord. I’m a jerk, I gave it away. Get over it.”

“No really, who has it, I need to know.”

He swung back towards her, “You don’t need to know anything. Get the hell out of here.”

Sam stood with one hand on Bucky's chest and the other holding Alex by the collar.

She shouted, “Tell me where it is!”

Sam groaned and pulled her aside, “He really is a jerk, the more you go straight at him, the less likely he’ll tell you anything. Trust me. Either trick him or offer him food.”

Bucky resumed his prowling assessment of his target.

“Y _ou gave away her present, hurt her feelings, just admit it, you liked it and gave it to Steve because it meant something to you. You are a jerk and completely out of touch with your feelings.”_

He unholstered the Glock to tap the butt not lightly against his forehead.

Alex hissed from behind Wilson, “No I won’t get over it. And yes you are a jerk. The cord has a tracker in it.”

He shot back over his shoulder, “Thank you. So glad you and the Voice in my head are in agreement.”

Sam spun her around to look at her, “You planted a tracker on Barnes?” An all-out laugh started, he thought better of it and saved it for later when he could make fun of him in the safety of Steve's presence.

“You planted a tracker on me?" He turned around and stepped towards them slowly. "All those months ago, you put that damn cord on me like it was something special and it had a tracker in it?”

“Yes. Not such a stupid kid after all.”

Sam saw it coming but Bucky was capable of being pretty damn quick when he was motivated. He lunged at them and knocked him to the ground.

Alex tried to run but he caught her arm and dragged her back. She kicked, punched and generally put up a decent struggle but none of her moves affected him. He hoisted her over his head with a guttural growl.

“Barnes!” Sam threw himself into his back, knocking him a few steps forward all while holding her at arm's length in the air. "Let her go! Don’t do this, she's a kid!”

Bucky let her drop down--into a tight hug.

She dangled there for a moment while Sam hung off Bucky's metal arm. A squeaked “Ouch, too tight,” cued him to let her fall to the ground.

“What the hell?” Sam rushed to check on her.

“Steve. I gave it to Steve. Is it working? Can you find him?" He thrust his metal open palm near her face, "Give it to me."

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

“He’s coming for you as I said he would.” The old Widow whispered close to Steve’s ear. “He is so predictable and easily manipulated.”

He blinked her into focus, “He’s going to kill you.” He struggled with a distinct drugged after-effect that colored what he was seeing and feeling. He wondered if this was what Bucky was talking about when he went on one of his "These meds suck, too many side effects" tirades. 

She smiled as she patted the back of his hand. “His will is weak. I control him. He’ll kill who I tell him to kill.” Sokolov tested each restraint as she circled around him, slipping a finger under the straps until she came to his right leg and hesitated. “He wasn’t that way in the beginning. Those first handlers struggled with him even after he learned of your death.” She wrapped her hand around his thigh. A flash of throbbing pain shot through his groin. He pressed his head back against the chair fighting to hide how much that particular touch hurt. He vaguely recalled being tossed like a rag-doll up a flight of stairs before the big guy stomped on his thigh until the bone snapped. Sokolov's fake smile greeted him when he came out of the fog.

“Good to hear he was the same asshole I knew back in the day.” He muttered through gritted teeth as he strained against the chair and restraints to take in the room.

“I broke him. He resisted but eventually, I won."

“You tortured him." He began to flex both arms, pushing against the leather bands that held him in the chair. "You wiped away his memory. That’s not winning.” 

She moved to his right arm and adjusted the flow of an IV. “Just some fluids to keep you hydrated. Well and some sedatives to control you. That break will heal quickly, but it serves our purpose for now. These restraints wouldn't hold without the added incentives of chemicals and a fractured leg. Our Soldier taught us that.”

He pushed against the head restraint to follow her. “What do you want with him? It’s over, he’s out, let him go.” 

“He is still worth something to us, to me.” She muttered.

“You nearly destroyed him. You know he hears voices right? He can barely function without medication. You can see that. He said you gave him the meds. Let him go.” He pushed against the restraint on his left leg. There was no moving the right one, for now.

“His work is not finished.” She crossed behind him. 

Steve studied the room as much as his drugged vision would allow. “I met your new version, he seemed more - enthusiastic than Bucky.”

“Yes, we have more willing participants these days. Winter Soldiers that don’t require mind wipes or persuasion. They are loyal to the cause of their own free will."

“Then let him go. His memory is crap, your wipes and torture took care of that." He gauged the size of the room by the echo of their voices, the distance from the chair to the walls. 

“After his betrayal in Boston? Letting him go is impossible. He knew that when he attacked us. Besides he has our secrets.”

“Like what? Where you left the car keys? Or your grandmother's recipe for blini? Yeah, he told me about the Russian pancakes you'd feed him every morning. Hot chocolate and blini with whipped cream." He pulled out all the Russian references he could recall from Natasha's late-night monologues while working on the Project Barnes Offensive. 

She moved back towards his injured leg. “I have a low tolerance for disrespect Captain. I’m sure he’s told you that.”

“He never even mentions you. And I'm not a Captain, anymore."

“That is good to know. It tells me everything I need for the moment. Thank you.”

Steve watched as her hand slid up from his ankle to hover over the distinct deformity of his femur. He braced for her touch.

“You see, I made him that way. He doesn’t tell you about me because he is a good Soldier, obedient to his training, obedient to me. Always obedient to me.”

She wrapped her hands around either side of the break and twisted. He drove his head back against the chair, stifling the scream as she watched him try to hide the pain from her. 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sam sat on the ground and studied the schematics of Fury’s silo that Alex had on her phone. “That right there. That vent, it’s a draft vent, I can shimmy down there.”

Bucky stood over him, looking out over Sokolov's compound. 

“Assuming both silos are basically the same, that vent will lead to the old control room." Sam pointed to a tall cement pipe sitting isolated past the mound that contained the blast doors. "There’s a door to the outside on the other side of that hill. I get in, get the doors open, Fury and his crew come to the rescue."

“That vent is too small for you.” Alex offered as she looked over his shoulder. “I can fit in there.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Listening to the Voice's constant undercurrent was irritating enough. Now with each hour away from the last dose of the medications it was getting harder to keep his thoughts straight never mind sort through Wilson's attempts at humor and the girl's feisty backtalk. He took a deep breath searching for some steadiness as things began to unravel in his mind.

Sam shook his head. “No. Unacceptable risk. Thank you for the tracker, the schematics, the weapons and what else? The sedative hangover from the clinic? Yup. Your work is done here.”

“Fine. Do it yourself. I’ll stand by and watch you get stuck.”

Sam defended, “I’m skinnier than I look.”

He glanced at the increasingly distressed look Bucky was wearing. “Easy-peasy,” he lilted.

Bucky frowned, “We are so dead. Well, you are all dead. I, on the other hand, will be in hell.”

“Hey, this might work. Come on. We’ll get Fury’s people in there. Steve and Nat are already in there. Sharon's what? Fifty-fifty on our side? Forty-sixty probably."

“Sure. Let’s do this. What can go wrong? I’ve been missing Hydra anyway. At least they didn't make me clean the toilet."

Sam looked puzzled, "Steve makes you clean the toilets? That explains a lot."

Bucky reluctantly dumped some of his weapons on the ground. “I need these two, and that one, bring that bag of ammo and that one over there.”

“Barnes, seriously I’m just one man.”

“Ok if not those then at least bring this.” He pulled the shield from his forearm and held it out towards him.

"No, no, no." Sam shook his head and stepped back.

"Just for now. I can't bring it in there. I can't lose it." He pushed it towards him. "When they take me down, I don't want them..."

"What's the point of having it if you don't use it, Barnes?" Sam pushed it back towards him.

"You'll bring it in there. If I'm still standing, if I'm still me. You can give it back." Bucky thrust it towards him again.

Alex interrupted. "You do that a lot don't you? Give away gifts?" 

Sam closed his hand on the edge of the shield and frowned but tugged on it.

Bucky held on. "You're just holding it, temporarily, until you give it back in there. Right?"

"Yes holding it only." Sam laughed, "I will not give it away, I will give it back." 

Bucky let go after a moment of tug-of-war then headed down the hill away from Alex. “Wilson, I need to talk to you. Come here.”

Although he was leery of anything that Barnes ended with “Come here," he went anyway.

“If this goes south if the Widow wins and well, you see that I’m him again. I’m, you know.” 

“I get it, Barnes.”

“You need to end it. Bullet to the back of the head.” He muttered and pointed at his temple.

Sam shook his head, “Barnes, not gonna happen. We’ll get out of this. You’ll get out.”

“You don’t know her. I can’t fight her.” He whispered. “I can’t go back there.”

“We’ll get you out. We’ll all get out.”

Bucky grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pulled him close. “If we don’t, if I don’t, you need to end it. Put me down. Swear it.”

“I am not swearing to that. Steve would never forgive me.”

He relaxed his hold but didn't let go, “He’s a dreamer. He thinks I just need some therapy and a few gallons of ice cream.”

“Now we’re talking two different things." Sam laughed, "Who you are now in all of your asshole glory and then there's the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky frowned at the asshole comment but kept pushing, “She’s going to put me back in that chair, you know that, right?”

“I know she wants to try but things are different now. You have us. Me and the unicorn.” He nodded towards Alex.

“This isn’t a game, Wilson. Promise me. If you see that I’m the Soldier again, you’ll put a bullet in my brain, what’s left of it.” Bucky stood chest to chest with him.

Sam could feel the tremor through the Kevlar vest. He wondered how much of it was the missing medications or genuine fear.

“I can’t make that promise. You’ve come back from what they did. Steve never gave up. I was a skeptic but both of you proved me wrong. You made me a believer now you’re stuck with that. I’m on Team Cap or Nomad or whoever the hell he is.”

“Steve, he’s Steve.” Bucky mumbled then, “If you don’t have the balls,” he pushed him away, “then ask Romanova, she’ll do it. She doesn’t care about forgiveness.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“Where’s Romanova?” Steve licked bone-dry lips.

“All in good time. She is alive and well for now. You’ll see her soon but first, a history lesson spanning the last seventy years. So much to learn about your old friend. He had raw potential in the beginning, but stubborn and difficult. It took some of my finest work to shape him into the asset.”

“He hates you.” The straps on his left arm began to stretch from his twisting efforts.

“Perhaps. But don’t we always hate those that correct us, those that keep us in check. He is an unruly child as I’m sure you’ve discovered these past few months.” She laughed and stroked his hair.

He tugged his head away from her hand despite the restraint. “Give it up before he gets here and kills you.”

She circled around him, “You know he nearly starved himself to death in the early days. He thought you died, he gave up. Until we found a replacement. That was my idea, you know. He never knew that.” She whispered, “I watched them through the windows. He was very happy with you, well, not you.”

The overhead lights went dim. The crackling sounds of old audio filled the room. English words, Russian words, laughter, all filtered in through the speakers embedded in the walls and rumbled through the room. Most of it was Bucky's voice, strained and cracked but recognizable. His words were in English at first. As the old Widow had said, defiant, angry. Steve could hear the pain in his tone, he steeled himself against the sound of Bucky struggling with his emotions. He knew what it would sound like. He remembered Bucky crying once as a kid. He couldn't remember why but he knew the sound and how it made him feel sick inside. Then Bucky's voice started speaking in Russian, halting and whispered it grew over time more fluent and confident and the English words disappeared. Steve pushed against the head restraint to find Sokolov, "Bucky was always a smart guy. Now he's multi-lingual. Good for him."  

A grainy image stumbled to life surrounding him. One picture morphing into another. All of them of Bucky, before the war, in uniform, as a Howling Commando. The cycle of still images rolled around the room and fell across Steve's body. He could see Bucky's face play out across his legs and abdomen. The reel of pictures ended with Bucky on a surgical table his left arm a bloody stump. Steve felt the fear he had in his eyes even across seventy years. The images began to loop again. An endless cycle of who he was up to the fall with his voice playing in the background.

Sokolov’s voice nearly startled him close to his ear. “This is how you remembered him before the fall. Yes?”

“What’s your point?” He twisted to bring his eyes close to hers. 

“Progression, you need to see how he fell, not just the famous fall from the train but his fall as a human. From the man you loved to a weapon that no one could love except his maker.” She crossed behind him. 

“You loved him? This is a joke, right? You fucking destroyed him, you didn’t love him. You don’t destroy what you love. You sick pathetic...”

She lunged for his right leg and slammed her fist into the break.

He dragged in a breath before,“He hates you.”

Her fist drove into the break again, “He isn’t your friend, your lover, he isn’t Sergeant Barnes.” She moved so he couldn’t see her again but could still hear her voice. “He is the asset. My weapon, my child. Damaged and forever changed.”

Steve closed his eyes, "He doesn't belong to you, he isn't a weapon. You damaged him but brokenness can be healed."

“Look, look at this. You’ll enjoy this part Captain." She appeared on his left pointing at the oversized image in front of them. 

The excitement in her voice pushed him over the edge with the pain driven nausea. He fought to keep from vomiting as he opened his eyes to the sepia-toned video of Bucky with a blond-headed strapping young man who looked a lot like himself.

"It’s uncanny how that handler looked so much like you. We searched a very long time to find just the right candidate. I’m very proud of this part. He cared deeply about him. About you.” She crossed out of his sight.

He tugged at the restraints on his arms, twisting in the darkened room. “Hey, come back. He did tell me something about you and that Captain America wanna-be.”

Sokolov moved so he could see her again. “Go on.”

“He told me he gutted that guy when he remembered me. He said that he never cared about you. That you wanted him to call you mother and he detested it. You made him vomit. He said he chose me, not you. He chose me over you and he’ll do that again when he kicks in your front door and wipes the place down with that muscle-bound jerk you have following you around that’s masquerading as a Winter Soldier.”

“We shall see, Captain, we shall see who he is loyal to soon enough. He’s on the grounds even now.”

She smiled as she closed the door leaving Steve alone with all of what Bucky never wanted him to know.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky strode up to the blast doors, the picture of a well-armed dark danger as he methodically scanned the terrain. He directed a cold glare at the surveillance camera and paused. His thoughts went down a quick checklist: The tracker device slipped into a make-shift pocket in his waistband, a small knife tucked in the vest against his scars and the memory of his last few minutes with Steve. He wanted that quiet moment tucked in tight together, arms and legs tangled, naked in the dark to be the last thing he consciously remembered before he turned off all logical thought and chanced losing everything again.

 

“ _A glorious day Soldat. Coming home. Mother will be so pleased. Although I’ll be sad to say goodbye to you once the mind-wipes begin. I’ve enjoyed our adventures these past few months, especially your sex moans.”_

 

Bucky steeled his will to stop the Voice’s ramblings from disrupting his grasp of their frail plan before he took a step back, closed the metal fist and commenced pounding at the seam of the blast doors. His shoulder ached at first from the percussive effects of vibranium meeting the steel but that soon passed as it always did. The sensors adjusted and settled to give greater force to each blow and allow his flesh to absorb the kickback and pain. The opening started to give and bend under the force, he kicked at the weakness until his hip grated its protest. He started screaming to push through the pain.

 

“ _Your last stand, Soldier? Is that what this is? At least the last one you’ll remember.”_

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sharon stood leaning against the wall, arms and legs crossed. She watched Gieta Sokolov as she stared intently at the surveillance image of Bucky kicking, pounding and screaming at the blast doors.

“He is beautiful isn’t he?” She cooed more to herself than to Sharon.

“Sure, beautiful. If you’re into that kind of emotional dysregulation.”

The old Widow smiled as she ordered the soldiers, “Let him in but you are not allowed to harm him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the silos. In Upstate New York, there are several abandoned missile silos from the early 50's. They housed ballistic missiles as part of the defense system. These silos are still in place and some have been converted into underground homes.


	31. A Man From the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Readers! I so appreciate your following along. Thank you so much! In this chapter words in these brackets < > are in Russian. Our boys are in a lot of trouble, so this chapter has some uncomfortable situations in it. Thank you again for following. <3 <3

“I hope you are enjoying Agent Sokolov’s video memories, Captain.” The Russian flavored words spoken from behind him were nearly drowned out by the sounds of Bucky’s screams reverberating through the speakers.

Steve didn’t hear the red-faced man enter or notice the gloved hands as they gripped the back of the chair just above his head. He was preoccupied with the struggle to pull free of the straps, compounded by the sedatives flowing into his arm. The right leg fracture only throbbed when he took a breath. He held fast to his denial that watching the methodical brutalization of his friend was influencing his attention, or focus, or his emotions.

“Picture’s a bit grainy, editing sucks, the plot is non-existent. I’d rate it a splat.” He forced a nonchalant tone as the need for speaking out loud left him open to simmering nausea that gripped his gut.

“A good sign! Still a sense of humor, still a fighter. I would expect this to be so. Captain America, a hero even to the end.” Leather fingers gripped his shoulders, a hand toyed with the uniform zipper to tug it down partly across his chest. Steve hitched a tight breath holding his discomfort close. Sharp insistent thumbs dug below the fabric to press into his neck on either side of his spine. Slow circling motions pushing across the tightness. He fought to control the flush of resentment towards the unwanted touch. He ached for relief from the tension of the last few hours, days, weeks maybe more but not this way, by a stranger caressing his body while the images of Bucky’s torture played out across the room, engulfing both of them

“Generally I like to know the name of whoever is working the kinks out of my neck.” He pulled forward as far as the restraints would allow to try and escape the uninvited kneading fingers.

“We have not formally been introduced, you are correct.” The hands slowly stroked along his shoulders, the thumbs pushing deep to separate the muscle fibers. “So tense, right here.” He worked deep into a trigger point. “You must throw the shield more from your right. Yes? It leaves you unbalanced.”

“Thanks for the advice but who the hell are you?” Steve twisted again, pulling away from the touch and working to get his eyes on the man. “And what do you want with Bucky? While we’re bonding here.”

“My name is irrelevant to you but my history with the asset is not. We are here in this moment because of him.” Steve saw a shadow emerge beside him, a tall lean figure that moved with a confident grace around the chair until he stopped at his feet to face him. “My name is Alexi Shostokov. I am an old – friend of the asset’s from many years ago. We have unfinished business to attend to and you will help me accomplish that.” Steve tried to pull his leg back as the man unlaced his boots, “If you don’t mind, I would like to show you a taste of what we will do later to persuade him and you to cooperate.”

 

“If you think breaking my other leg will convince me to help, you don’t know me very well.” He flexed and tugged openly trying to break the straps, stretching the leather as it groaned from the force. Fire shot up his right leg chasing along the nerves as Shostokov’s thumb drilled into the reflex point at his inner ankle, making a hot sweat flush across his chest and his heart pound.

 

“The fracture was crude but necessary. I prefer something more subtle, more inviting. Nerve pain can be so debilitating and persuasive, repetitive, lasting, without fully destroying tissue that might be needed later. The right degree of pressure at the correct location causes relief, improved circulation, emotional release.” He stroked Steve’s now bare feet carefully, gentle pressure that sent mixed sensations, an urge to urinate, a flash of emotion, a sense of peace and comfort followed by searing pain that shot through the fracture and into his groin, nearly costing him his stomach contents.

 

“Get to your point. What could you possibly want from him? They have you, they have others like you. I’ve lived with him the past six months, he’s high maintenance. I’m sure he’s more trouble than he’s worth by now.” He tensed his arms, again and again, pushing the limits of the straps in the flickering light of the endless loop of video. He felt the upper arm straps pop slightly, a give to his pressure. He hoped his tormentor was more focused on his torture and distracted by the relentless sounds and images around them than on the sounds of Steve breaking free.

 

“We need something he has. Something that the old woman foolishly entrusted to him many years ago.” He dragged his hand up Steve’s leg and let it hover over the fracture. “We need his memories. Secrets deeply embedded in his mind while under her care. That foolish woman hid the data in his memory never thinking he’d escape and turn against us.”

 

“Good luck with that.” Steve's attempt at a casual laugh sounded more like a cough. “He needs post-it notes and three friends to get him through the day. Not sure anything you want is left in there. Hydra took care of that, memory wipes, trigger words not to downplay the torture.” He didn't want to think about the shoe-box full of data that Bucky tucked in the closet, or under the floorboard or behind the wallboard in the bathroom depending on his level of paranoia that week. Steve fought down the memory in case the pain overtook him and he blurted out, “He remembers all of that shit."

 

The sound of Bucky’s moan distracted them both. “I particularly enjoy this part, Captain.” Shostokov turned to the far wall with the clearest view of the video images. He laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder, his thumb slipped beneath the uniform top to stroke along his skin. “I’m sorry, I was told you are no longer the Captain, is that correct? What name do you go by now? Rumor has it, Nomad, a man without a country? Or Steve, may I call you Steve?” He spoke next to his ear but his eyes were on the wall and the images of the blond Russian handler as his arms slipped around Bucky’s naked body from behind.

 

“Watch this closely, Steve.” The man’s voice was a whisper now, his breath warm on his cheek. “How your friend looks at the man he thinks is you. How uncertainty fills him, he’s not sure but wants it, so much wants it to be you. He is willing to take that chance. He is willing to sleep with an impostor in order to be close to you.” Steve closed his eyes and tried to turn his head.

Shostokov grabbed his jaw and shook him, “Look at his eyes, the want, the need for you. Does he look at you like that now? Or are his eyes dead, empty of caring, his soul yearns for release, doesn’t it? He only wants to die. He has tried already, hasn’t he? You can give him that release from these memories. From the horror that Hydra inflicted for seventy years. Set him free from this nightmare.”

“Fuck you.” Steve spit the words but his mind was racing with the mixture of truth in the lies of what this monster was saying. His chest tightened, nausea rose again as he fought to control his anger.

“Is this what you want when you make love to him? He looks at you and sees the handler, that man up there. He’ll never belong to you truly. He will always belong to her and her madness. Set him free, Captain, tell him to give us the information freely and we will put him out of his misery quickly and cleanly, with mercy.”

Steve’s mind rolled through all the wildly swinging emotions being triggered. He was always the one in control, leading, saving, fighting. Never the one in this position a captive being tormented, unable to fight his way out. He could smell his own sweat when he closed his eyes trying to avoid the images of the other man’s hands caressing Bucky’s body, pulling the soft sounds from him, the sounds he’d only heard a few times, not nearly enough. Now he heard someone else making that happen. He dragged in a breath to steady himself, opened his eyes to stare at Shostokov, “Do you have the pictures? I want to see the pictures.” He demanded.

His question was met with a hint of confusion, “More of this? Do you want to see them fucking is that it? I’m sure that sick old woman has that hidden somewhere.”

“No, not that. I want to see the pictures of that guy’s gutted body when Bucky remembered that he wasn’t me. I’d love to see that. You know, for the whole story. And while you’re at it, what’s your deal with him anyway? You knew him years ago? How old are you? Our age? We’re in our 90’s now. I gotta say, we’ve aged a lot better than you have. That red skin deal. Was that a Hydra experiment gone wrong? Serum side effects? You pathetic piece of shit.”

His tirade was brought to a temporary halt by a fist across his jaw. “Very funny Captain. He is the one that will suffer in the end. As will you and your friends.”

Steve spit out the blood and kept going, “So the serum worked on him but not on you is that it? You got the deformity and he got the enhancements. Is that your bone to pick with him?”

Shostokov glared as he raised his fist over Steve’s right femur but the blow was aborted when the sepia-toned video shut down and was replaced by a bright black and white image of a larger-than-life Bucky driving his fist into the blast doors. The repeated and bone-shaking punches sent clanging shivers through the room. “Music to my ears,” Steve muttered as he watched the doors slowly give under Bucky’s unrelenting attack. A quick wave of something close to pride – relief- enjoyment rushed across his mind before he pulled it back under control.

The torturous audio feed had stopped as well, giving way to Sokolov’s voice, “He’s here Agent Shostokov, you need to come up here.” Steve breathed a sigh of relief and horror that he was happy to hear her voice.

Shostokov remained unmoved. He took slow steps forward towards the images on the wall. Steve studied his stance, tried to read his body and face as he was drawn intently towards Bucky’s attack.

“You’re jealous of him. That’s it isn’t it? He was picked and you weren’t. He was protected and valued, not you. I get it now.” Steve’s flexing efforts were paying off, his left arm was nearly free. He held still when Alexi turned towards him, “Jealous? He is a pawn, a mindless weapon, look at him.”

“Not looking mindless to me right now. Looking pissed, determined and well-armed.” Steve countered.

Shostokov narrowed his eyes and stalked towards Steve. He slammed a fist into his chest to drive him choking back into the chair as he leaned next to his ear. “I will torture you until he tells me what we need to know. He will give up. He always has. You see him up there,” he turned and pointed to Bucky’s attack, “You see all that energy being exerted right now. He is doing that for you. He is willing to die for you. That is a powerful weapon.” He turned back to look closely at Steve, “Dare I call it love? Perhaps. But I will call it his undoing once he gets in here. I will take him down. I will torture you until he talks then I will kill you in front of him.” He stood up and patted his shoulder, “I will then gut him as he did the handler, the cycle becomes a full circle. It will all be over soon, dear Captain.” He walked slowly towards the door.

Steve’s eyes were on Bucky the whole time. The door ground open, soldiers started to swarm out, he could see Bucky retreat a far enough distance to fight in the open. He wanted to buy him time before Shostokov entered the fight, “What the hell happened between you two? I mean you can at least tell me before you kill us, right? Did Hydra pick him instead of you? He got the big promotion and you got the back office? What?”

Shostokov stopped. It was a moment before he spoke, “I chose enhancement after the Soldier was done destroying my life. I chose it with the plan to meet him like this one day. That old woman has protected him for years but that is over now. It’s my turn, he belongs to me in the end.”

Steve heard his steps resume, “Hey you never said what he did to you.” His eyes never left Bucky’s fight as it escalated outside the doors, he hoped for a few seconds more of distraction.

Shostokov didn’t answer. Steve thought he heard him take a breath as if a response was coming but the sound of gunfire overrode his pause. “Another time perhaps. I have to attend to your...the asset.”

“Hey, wait, tell me now, he’s going to kill you,” Steve shouted but the door slammed shut. The video and audio feed abruptly halted leaving him in the darkness. He took a slow breath, then another to steady the heartbeats throbbing into his temples, a cooling sweat soaked the small of his back.

He refocused to work on getting free.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

_“Soldat, it will be so much easier if you give up. Think about how tired you are. You’re a loser, a failure, give her what she wants, she’s going to get it from you anyway. If you do, she might let him live.”_

The head shake fighting against the Voice fit nicely into his back-pedaling motions when the doors slowly opened. The lights from inside the complex entrance backlit the oncoming soldiers the way he hoped it would so he wouldn’t have to fight in the dark.

_“We’ll take any advantage we can, right Soldat?”_

The open space in front of the doors gave him good flat ground to see what was coming.

He found himself seeking the company of the Voice, “One against the many, stay open, keep them in sight.”

He hoped the Widow was still in charge, that she still wanted him alive.

Line after line of black-clad soldiers filed through the blast doors but no one opened fire, with bullets at any rate.

_“That’s a good thing. She doesn’t want you dead or hurt too badly. Not good for you in the long run but...”_

The first of the tranquilizer darts bounced off the Kevlar vest, then his metal arm.

He pointed the Uzi at their feet and opened fire, raking a demarcation line across the ground, holding them back.

_“Good, good make them afraid to advance, although you’d be much more threatening if you actually killed a few.”_

Bucky began to prowl back and forth ahead of the line of men, brandishing the Uzi, glaring towards them. Still, no one fired a gun at him but another flurry of tranq darts flew in his direction. One caught his thigh, he quickly yanked it out. The rest landed around him. He kept moving.

“Hold them off, draw them out, get in behind them.” His own inner voice was getting louder.

_“This is different. An actual plan? Are we going to do this all night?”_

He paced faster to swing far to his left, hoping for an angle to slip past the line of weapons aimed at him. “Get in there, get in there. Just get in there.” The mantra began to emerge in his thoughts as a counterweight to the Voice.

_“Very strange to be in a one-sided firefight. Mother must very much want you in one piece. She has plans for you.”_

A determined sounding woman’s voice rang out from within the doorway. “Advance on him. The fool isn’t going to kill you but I will.” Two of the men in the back of the crowd went down unceremoniously after she put a bullet in their heads.

_“Mother sounds very very angry. She may want you in one piece but she won’t mind you being damaged.”_

He shook his head again, the Voice ramped up with each hour away from the meds, the move made him stumble enough to drop the Uzi sight towards the ground. A surge of men rolled forward, he backed up again and refocused. He opened fire, this time his bullets connected with flesh but not enough to kill. They drew back a few steps but didn’t relent. He was only going to wound them, she made it clear she’d kill them.

Bucky tried to keep his thoughts organized on the simplest of tasks, “Get behind them, get in. Track him down. Get out.”

“Barnes! Can you hear me?” A distant barely familiar voice whispered in his head.

_“You’re losing ground Soldat, look how they’ve pulled up to your right, behind you now. Kill them you idiot, just start killing them. They won’t shoot back, not yet anyway.”_

Bucky glanced to his right to see the Voice was more on the ball than he had been. There were men nearly behind him now. He swung around in a circle to gauge how many seconds he had left before they rushed him.

“Barnes! Look up. Look up.” He struggled to understand the words from this new voice.

_“It’ll be over soon if you don’t get your shit together and start killing people. Then you’ll never save him. Mother was right, you’re weak. You have no will of your own, she was right to take your memories, you’re better off as the mindless asset.”_

“Shit. Shit.” He raised the Uzi and unholstered the Beretta. His finger tightened on the triggers as he refocused his aim from knees to their heads, he spread his arms out side to side and sighed.

“Barnes up here! You put that damn comm link in your ear right? I know you did. I pushed it in there myself with superglue. Look up, damn it!”

Sam swooped and circled as he tried to get a sign from Bucky that he heard him. “Ok here we go, let’s get your attention another way.” He hurtled down towards the tightening circle of soldiers centered on Barnes. Sam could see they were nearly within arm’s reach and he still hadn’t fired.

So Sam did. His bullets ripped through the line of men closest to the doorway.

Bucky never looked up but his fingers reflexively closed on the triggers of both weapons, sending several men to the ground groaning from the unexpected wounds.

“You fools! Rush him, now or I’ll kill all of you.” Mother’s voice rang out over an intercom.

The soldiers looked with uncertainty from her to him, and back again until she shot another one.

_“You are pathetic, Soldat. They are more afraid of an old lady than they_ _are of you. You bring shame to the Winter Soldier program.”_

He groaned at the Voice’s relentless commentary and turned towards the blast doors.

He began to walk quickly, then jog then moved to a run as soldiers rushed towards him. Two slammed into him, he shook one off and elbowed the other across the dirt lot. More soldiers crashed into him, stopping his forward motion, he tossed one after another aside, but each one he pushed away was replaced by more. All of them grabbing at his arms and clothing, kicking at his feet trying to bring him down to the ground. He had a flash of recognition of a tranquilizer gun move through the throng of men to press hard against his thigh. He groaned as he drove his knee up and kicked out at the hands holding the gun. 

The old widow’s words raked across his hearing again. This time in Russian.

<Longing> He caught his breath.

<Rusted> A head shake but he kept pushing.

<Seventeen> Bucky groaned and fell back two steps with soldiers wrapping around him. Someone stripped the Uzi from his flesh hand.

That irritating familiar voice screamed in his head, “Here it comes, Barnes, I really hope you're listening.”

<Daybreak> The searing pain in his head took his sense of touch as he dropped the Beretta from his metal hand and started a long gut-wrenching scream.

Sam pulled up to hover and put all of his strength and effort behind his throw.

“Don’t let it hit you in the head, man.” Bucky clung wildly in his mind to that voice.

<Furnace> His vision went stark white, all the voices, shouts and gunfire fell into a surreal hum of white noise. One sound emerged over all the rest. The distinctive metallic zing sound made by Vibranium as it soars through the air. Bucky’s metal arm shot up without looking, without a word, in time to decisively connect with the edge of the shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character Alexi Shostokov is borrowed from Marvel's Earth 616 comics. He is the Winter Soldier/James "Bucky" Barnes' rival in love for Natasha Romanova when they were all at the Red Room. In the comics, Natasha was also genetically altered to slow aging. Bucky had an affair with her that his handlers put to an end by putting him in cryo. Alexi ended up married to Natasha. He became known as the villain the Red Guardian after their marriage ended. That's the nutshell version anyway. Thank you!


	32. The Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for following!  
> Words in these brackets are in Russian < >  
> <3 <3

 

“So you _can_ hear me. Good, great. Let’s do this,” Sam let out a whoop when Bucky’s metal hand shot up from the throng of soldiers to blindly connect with the shield. “Ok, it makes sense, I jammed that comm earpiece in there pretty good.” He would deny feeling threatened by Barnes’ angry growl with the matching whine from his arm when he had shoved said earpiece in place. Superglue was under consideration but Sam scrapped the idea when he pictured the ordeal of getting it out, not to mention Steve’s list of rules regarding Barnes. It wasn’t technically written ‘no superglue’ but it was definitely implied.

 

Sam continued his overhead circling fire, cutting through the men he could take out without the risk of hitting Barnes. He could see the firefight had spread towards the road as Fury’s men advanced. He kept up a steady chatter, “I don’t care what you think if I get a shot at that old Widow I’m taking it.” He hoped his incessant talk might distract Barnes from Sokolov's words as they rang out across the fight but with every word she said, Sam could see Barnes falter.

He swung down again raking bullets across the line of soldiers. The return fire tore through one of the wings sending him into a dizzy spiral before he could right himself. He dove in, setting his sights on Sokolov but the return fire ripped into the wings again and sent a sharp pain through his thigh. The ensuing trail of blood and lopsided flight pattern forced him to retreat to the hilltop.

 

Alex wrapped a bandage around his leg, “He’s losing isn’t he?” She asked quietly.

“No. No, he’s not. We’re not losing. This is a tough fight that’s all.” Sam wasn’t going to feed into her fears or his own but he was struggling with a growing sense of helplessness that echoed his loss of his flight partner Riley years earlier. He watched him fall from the sky and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Now he was watching Barnes be overtaken by an old woman and trigger words.

“What are we going to do?” Wide eyes stared up at him.

He sighed and pushed down the feeling of hopelessness that always showed up when he thought about the day Riley died. “Damn words. They’re just damn words.” He whispered as he watched Barnes rake the shield through the crowd and struggle to stay on his feet. “What are we going to do? We’re going to talk. He can hear me. So let’s talk to him.” He clicked on the audio for the comm link and spoke quietly in Barnes’ ear. “Come on, man, think about something else, think about Steve. I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” He covered the comm mouthpiece to groan then resumed, “Sex, think about sex with Steve. Or food, how about pizza, anything, block her out. Fight her, Barnes, you can do this.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Natasha cursed Sharon’s name, her kin, her future children and her country of birth. “Very funny, Carter, this pocket knife is a damn toy.” She sawed with discretion as she laid on the floor of the cell while two goons stood guard outside. “I hate zip-ties.” She kept at it since Sharon’s parting words to the men reminded her that time was running out. “Check her out, fellas,” Natasha mocked her clipped voice. “As if I couldn’t get out of here on my own.”

One guard’s voice interrupted her internal rant, “So she’s a Widow too.”

She glanced over her shoulder long enough to assess her immediate captors. One tall and skinny, the other less tall and more round, both with their backs to the closed cell door and oblivious to her escape efforts. She was unimpressed and returned to her pocket knife.

“I don’t see the big deal about them.” The taller man commiserated.

The squat one added, “I don’t get it.”

His partner shrugged, “Maybe we need to take what’s given to us.”

“Meaning what?”

The tall guard continued, “You know what I mean, she’s tied up in a cell, the old lady is insane. Let’s face it, you hear that gunfire? Shit’s hitting the fan here. No one’s gonna give us a bonus for a job well done.”

“So she’s our bonus?”

“Yeah, we get our extra something, we kill her cuz that’s what blondie said to do, and we move on to the next assignment.”

The squat guy was nervous, “I dunno, there’s that Widow thing. And the old woman’s intense. Have you seen that stun prod she carries on her hip? Damn.”

His counterpart laughed, “What? Are you afraid of an old woman and a girl? Come on, there’s two of us. She’s tied up. How much trouble can she be?”

Natasha appreciated the timing of his last statement when she yanked his head back against the bars to knock what little sense he had out of his head. She used his body as leverage when she swung up to drive her heel into the other guard’s open jaw. His look of shock morphed into a blank stare as he dropped to the floor with blood spurting from his mouth.

“It figures you’d have the keys, Mr.-How-Much-Trouble-Can-She-Be.” She stretched through the bars to drag the tall one towards her as the sound of gunfire echoed through the missile bay. She armed herself and trotted towards the fifteen story climb to join the fight.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

When Bucky went into cryostasis he didn’t want to come out until they could remove the trigger words.

Given current circumstances, he began to nurture a good deal of regret at not demanding to go back under when Steve didn’t have a solution those long months ago when he pulled him from the cold sleep.

 

“ _Let’s face it, your buddy, Steve got antsy and pulled you from cryo too soon, he was pathetically lonely and needed to get in your pants so he pulled you out and dragged you to that god-forsaken old house and never found anyone to zap your brain into submission and now here we are. At Mother’s mercy again, she’s reciting the damn words and you’re losing your mind, soon to lose your freedom and he’ll lose his life. All because he had an itch that his hand couldn’t scratch.”_

 

Bucky was at a loss for words in response to the Voice’s manic driven tirade which he could not disagree with generally but was loathe to encourage since most rants by the Voice were categorically non-helpful. He moved on.

 

Hydra soldiers swarmed around him, Mother’s trigger words began to erase his memory as well as his will to fight and the arm’s sensors screamed that he was holding something in his hand over his head that he wasn’t quite sure if it was the shield or not. He had a distinct memory of the ringing sound it made as it zipped through the air, his hand registered the firm contact, but his mind skipped ahead a few steps to this very moment when the next word rang across the fight.

<Benign.> An exquisite pain shot up from the back of his head into his temples shaking his resolve and focus. His vision filled with the image of dark-clad bodies morphing from men to an undulating mass as the soldiers pressed in around him.

Bucky choked down the terror of being overtaken as gloved hands pounded on his chest. His flesh arm ached from being pinned behind him. Panic began to fill his mind when an arm snaked around his neck, slowly cutting off his air. He drove his body forward, his knee connecting hard with a groin, he could hear his own voice groan as he fought to gain an inch at a time towards his goal.

A muffled sound deep in his ear, “Keep moving, you’re close,” prompted him to glance up and mutter “Birdman” but his mind was dragged back down by Mother’s continued push. “Give up, Soldat. You know I don’t want to hurt you. Why do you insist that I hurt you like this?” A quick break in the wall of soldiers let him catch a glimpse of her diminutive body only a few feet away, pacing the blast door threshold, pointing at him, demanding they take him down.  He shook off the dread she pulled from him to drop his elbow onto the skull of a man tucked tight to his side. The thought of how she could control him forced his arm back to rake the shield through the soldiers behind him. He swung it forward with a groan as he drove it into the wall of surrounding bodies.

A flash-back to uninvited hands, holding him down, dragging him, touching him, threatened to overwhelm what little logical thought he had left. The memory splintered his thoughts further before the old Widow drove home her ability to break him when she continued her attack.

<Homecoming.> He gasped a tight breath as the pain dragged a scream from his chest. The press of soldiers nearly knocked him off his feet, forcing him to scramble to rebalance.

A wave of all-too-familiar nausea rode up from his belly and burned in his throat when he swallowed hard to keep it at bay.

“ _Don’t puke now, Soldat. Not in front of Mother, you’ll only prove her right about what a loser you are.”_

<One.> Panic sent a tight pain to flush across his chest as the blackness started to rise in his mind overtaking his rational thoughts. He whispered to himself, “No, no, cant fall, have to get to Steve.”

“ _Give up Soldat, just fall, just let her take you. The more you fight the angrier they get, the more you pay in the end. They always win. You don’t remember so I’ll remind you what happened before. They came late at night to your cell for payback, it wasn’t enough to take your food and clothes, who cares that they beat you, they took everything, they took your---soul, what was left of it.”_

The Voice’s prattling fell away into a stream of jibberish when he willed it to stop its unwanted commentary. A surge of anger caught in his throat. His own thoughts surfaced briefly one last time. “Steve? I’m supposed to find you.”

His vision faded to black, he couldn’t tell if he closed his eyes or if the conditioning finally won out. He heard Mother’s voice close to his ear, he thought he could feel her breath. It sent a shudder of fear through him that settled into a strange sense of calmness when she whispered the final word of his undoing.

<Freight car.> The rush of panic took his breath as she spoke the promise to take away all that he had gained since his escape from Hydra. He desperately wrapped his mind around an image of Steve as a skinny blond-headed kid laughing at his jokes and running the beach at Coney Island. He pulled the thought of that kid tight into his memory and whispered “Stevie,” as his mind slipped away into the depths of darkness.

 

His fight was over just inches from the entrance to the facility. His feet came to rest on the threshold of the blast doors. Bucky’s exhausted panting gradually wound down to settle into long deep breaths free of the panic of forgetting his life. The annoying voice deep in his ear became a dull sluggish rumble as his mind fell into the deep emptiness without his thoughts or emotions. Only the desire to comply was left behind as his will slipped away. His body disconnected from the anxiety and pain that filled his days and nights. But his hand clung to the shield and the image of a childhood friend even as he worked to recall his name.

A whispered voice in his head reminded him. “Steve. You’ve gotta go get Steve.” He held on.

Mother pushed aside the few remaining soldiers that surrounded him. He slow blinked her face into focus as she approached, she didn’t stop until her body brushed against his thigh. He didn’t pull away from her touch when she reached for his face. A contented smile crossed her lips when he allowed her hand on his stomach. He didn’t recoil when her fingers burrowed between the Kevlar vest and his pants, her eyes glinted with his lack of protest as her fingers dug across his bare skin to settle hooked into his waistband. She steadied herself on her toes to brush a hand across the sweat on his temple, caress his cheek with her thumb and push the wet hair from his face. “There, there, you are home now.”

Bucky’s eyes locked on hers. He stood with his face impassive, a coldness in his eyes, he bent towards her touch. He had no will left to try and control the tremor that shook his head and coursed through his body. She laid her hand on his neck and let his ragged pulse throb against her fingertips, “Poor child, so much pain.” She held his gaze for a long moment before she moved her focus to his metal hand and the shield.

“I’ll take that, my child. It’s a burden, I know.”

His eyes dragged along her arm to settle on her grasp of the shield’s edge so close that her flesh touched his metal.

“Let it go, now. I’ll keep it safe for you.” She whispered.

His fingers wouldn’t unlock even as she tugged, “Child, let it go.”

A faint disconnected image of a friend handing him the shield teased his memory.

She tugged again more forcefully. “Let it go, Soldier, now, let it go.”

He kept his eyes on their hands close together on the edge of the metal. A high-pitched voice in his ear added, “Steve gave that to you, it’s a gift, you don’t give away gifts.”

<Soldat, it’s over. No more rebellion. You’re home with Mother now. Let it go.>

Bucky’s gaze shifted from their hands to her face and held there.

 

Natasha slowed her run up the stairs when she got to the main entrance and took in the precarious scene unfolding. She moved with caution behind Sokolov as she spoke, “Barnes, it’s over. It's me, Romanova. She lost. You don't need to listen to her anymore." She crossed towards Bucky’s right, carefully cutting the distance.

The old Widow countered but never moved her gaze from Bucky. “Don’t listen to her, Pasha, she’s a Widow, you know how they are. Not to be trusted. Give me the shield and come in here.”

Natasha crept closer, “Steve wouldn’t want you to do that, Barnes. It’s yours now. We need to go find him. He needs you.” She held her pistol close and ready. She hoped he’d listen, if not, if he was gone, she was ready to do what was needed to stop him. To stop Sokolov and save Steve. She reached out, her hand nearly touching his, she whispered, “It’s over, let’s go find Steve.”

 

 

Sam could see Natasha in the doorway slowly approaching them. He rolled forward with the chatter in Bucky's ear, “Steve’s in that building straight ahead, you need to slap that old Widow out of the way, take that damn shield and go find him. Use the tracker the unicorn – sorry, Alex, gave you, find him, drag his ass out of there. First, stick your tongue down his throat - then drag him out of there, and go have the damn happy ending you two idiots deserve. Barnes! Wake the fuck up!”

 

 

Bucky tilted his head towards Natasha, he fought to tear his eyes from Mother's holding gaze long enough to connect with Romanova's pleading look. The old Widow's sharp hand across his cheek didn't make him flinch but brought his eyes back to her. “You will obey me, I am Mother and you are an unruly child that needs discipline.” He drew in a slow and ragged breath. The fight to overcome her control shook his body. He blinked once, then again as his conscious mind scrambled its way up through the darkness to choke out the words, “No, no more.” The hum of her stun prod wasn't a surprise when he stood his ground. Metal fingers slid to cover her hand on the shield as she brought her discipline tool to the exposed skin of his throat.

 

The distraction was enough to encourage Natasha to lunge towards Sokolov’s arm but her efforts were met by the electric kick of the prod hitting her square in the chest. Bucky shuddered as it sparked and fired but stayed rooted in place, connected to Mother through the shield, his mind fighting to break free from her control. The sound of Natasha's moans as she landed hard against the blast door fell far in the background of his hearing. Only the threatening hum of impending pain filled his ears when Mother returned the prod an inch from his pulse.  

 

“I am done obeying you.” His rasped whisper was distant in his own ears as he leaned closer to her face, the struggle to disobey shook through his body.

“Then we will start over, Soldat. We will control you, I will control you.” Her smile dropped into a thin angry line.

“Go get Steve. You need to get Steve.” He struggled to recall, “Who the hell is Steve?” The name brought a warm, nearly intimate feeling to his belly. His mind followed the voice saying “Go get Steve.” It wasn’t an actual thought, it was a voice droning on in a mumbled slow-motion tone about someone named Steve, pizza, sex and unicorns. Bucky tried to make sense of it. The part of his mind that knew only obedience to the mission wanted to push it aside as useless information but the warm sensation started to grow. It was more inviting than the long dark emptiness that swarmed around him. "Think about Steve," whispered again, followed by  an image of a blond-headed boy that kept popping up on the sideline of his brain. "Stevie?" The sound of that name, the image of the boy made him feel safe, and that was something he was willing to chase after even if only in his mind.

 

He glanced towards the shield, his metal fingers were firmly planted over her hand, both clinging stubbornly to the object. Her face slipped into a softer look when he tightened his grip, as if his willing touch pleased her. He cocked his head to take in the distance between his neck and the stun prod, then settled his gaze locked on her cold eyes. Time ticked by slowly for that moment. Even without his conscious memories, his muscle memory recalled what would come next. The jolt of fire racing through his body, the whited-out vision, the distant scream, it was all hanging there waiting for her hand to move. He was ready. She smiled when she drove the stun prod deep into the soft tissue of his throat. His flesh hand caught her too late to stop the blow but he hadn't planned on stopping the punishment. His metal fingers clamped tighter over her hand, the delicate bones collapsing under the growing pressure. Her scream joined his as the searing energy of the stun tore through both of their bodies, he held the prod close against his own skin as his full weight collapsed down to engulf Mother.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sharon sat in the control room situated just past the inner blast doors that protected the old living and work areas from the actual launch silo. Her feet were propped on the counter, she popped stale peanuts in her mouth as she watched the big showdown taking place in the open area beyond the outer blast doors. “What a pair. God, look at her fawn over him.” She demonstrated her contempt with a fake shudder and continued her review. “How can you not see he hates you. You have to use mind-control to get him to even stand still, never mind actually allow you to touch him.” She dabbed blood from her self-inflicted superficial arm wound onto her face. “And you, Barnes, what a moron, you’ve got that damn shield in your hands, holding it like a limp dick. You are a limp dick I don’t care what Rogers thinks.” She threw a peanut at the screen and ripped her shirt.

“I am not going to jail over the bunch of you, should’ve taken care of business myself a long time ago.” She pushed up from the chair when Bucky and the old Widow dropped to the ground together. “OMG the fucking drama of it all. Rogers deserves you, I bet he has to wipe your face and your ass. Pathetic.” She gestured her disgust by sticking a finger down her throat.

 

She dabbed more blood on her face, messed up her hair, tore her pants and turned to Alexi Shostokov. “So I get the money and that old hag. You get the Soldier and his boyfriend, agreed?”

 

Shostokov raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Agreed. Agent Sokolov extracted the information from the Soldier when she held him a few months ago. All you need to do is get her to talk.”

“Great, fine. Then I’m out of here. You should probably get back to Captain America before the Cap-wanna-be wakes up.” She waved him towards the hallway leading deeper into the complex. “Go on, he’ll see you. I’ll send him your way, no worries. Although I’d love to stick around to see you wipe the floor with him, I’ll be going once you get out of the way.”

Shostokov smiled at her and slowly made his way from the control room. He turned to glance back at the main entrance, as Bucky began to stir from the shock. An open smile crossed his face when he looked back at Sharon as she slammed her hand on the switch that closed the outer blast doors. She joined him to watch Sam drag Natasha away from the crush of the doors and waved her fingers with a smile when he had to stop short or get crushed, leaving Bucky struggling to his knees just inside the entrance. 

“He’s all yours now,” Sharon called back as she staggered forward to solidify her final move.

The red-faced man strode down the dark and damp corridors deeper and deeper. His final destination, to lie in wait for Bucky as he searched to find Steve. 


	33. Did You Miss Me?

“Buck? Is that you?” Steve blinked hard and stared into the darkened room. A sliver of light crept in under the door behind him; it cut through the utter blackness to allow the faintest of shadows. “Damn it. I told you not to follow me.” Slow efforts to clear his vision didn’t bring Bucky into focus. “Don’t just stand there looking sheepish, get over here and help me.” His words fell thick and dry into the empty room. “You’re such an asshole. It’s my job, now, protect you. But no, here you are, that old woman is right - unruly defiant child.” A fresh wave of sweat broke across his chest as he scolded the shadows with slurred words and an unfamiliar ache in his heart. “I can save you, Buck, I can - I thought I could. I wanted to, but you came here, you followed me. Jerk.”

Time slipped away in his consciousness, the medications flowing into his arm overpowered the serum and stole his sense of self. The constant gnawing ache in his leg peaked with each flex of his arms or drag of his leg to escape the bonds. Thick straps on his undamaged ankle resisted his efforts to pull it free. Leather dragged across his bare skin; the restraint was looser now without his boot. A deep steadying breath helped counter the screaming pain at the break when he tugged his foot free. Another wave of nausea filled his gut, he closed his eyes and willed down the pain and urge to puke. “I don’t know how you do it, pal, all that vomiting. Worst feeling in the world.”

The distant popping noise of gunfire filtered into the room pulling him from his attempts to settle the ache and nausea. He searched the shadows again, “Buck? I know you’re here, I saw you at the doors, I can see you, stop hiding.” He glanced at the blank wall in front of him and murmured, “I saw what they did to you.” The images from the grainy films played across his mind’s eye in the darkness. An emaciated body, a bloody stump, rough hands pushing and pulling an unwilling participant into the chair. “I’m sorry,” he choked, “You didn’t want me to know, I’m sorry.” The spinning intensified when he swung his head to scan the room, sure that Bucky was there with him. “Don’t be an asshole for once, come over here and help me.”

He gave up waiting for a response, “Fine, be that way, punk. I’ll do it myself.” The deep breath steadied his head and dulled the pain enough; his jaw set tight, arms flexed and strained to push against the straps. The sound of the leather tearing away from the chair preceded the searing jolt of pain from his leg when the straps broke away, and his arm shot forward. Bile made it to the back of his throat, he choked it down and shook through the sweat-soaking tremor. “Damn, that hurt.” The needle in his arm gave easily to his shaking fingers. The tremor hampered his attempts to unbuckle the strap holding his bound arm. He drew a long slow breath.

“I saw him, Buck. You and that handler.” His whispered confession sent a cold chill through him giving life again to Bucky’s soft sounds pulled by the man who looked like himself. The calloused fingers dragging across Bucky’s skin, digging deep into his hips, raking across the coarse hairs of his abdomen nearly overwhelmed Steve’s resolve and shook his unwavering devotion. The memory of what he saw and heard settled into his mind unimpeded by logic or choice. “Guess that was the whole point of this. Break me down, show me this shit, shake my faith in you.” He locked his eyes on his arm to beat back the pictures from his vision. “Nat was right, that old woman knows what she’s doing.” A stab of pain in his groin cut short the huffed laugh. He pushed ahead, “I don’t care. I don’t care what happened. Not your fault, no choice. You had no choice.”

Shaking fingers struggled with the buckles holding the restraint on his arm; he shook his head to clear the sweat from his vision, the distant sounds of gunfire fell away. The quiet that followed crept into his awareness, he held still to listen. “Really hope you won that fight, but just in case.” The rush of urgency pushed him through the inevitable stab of pain when he ripped the strap from his arm. “Hold on, Buck, I’ll get to you.” The reach for his right ankle was held back by the strap across his forehead, he groaned and shoved it upward. “I promised I’d protect you. I meant it; I’ll get to you. Not gonna let her hurt you again.”

 

“This is a glorious day, Steve. A truly glorious moment in time.” Shostokov’s hands gripped his shoulders tightly; his thumbs dug deep into his flesh sending a numbing fire down his back. An arm slipped around his neck to slowly tighten down, choking out his air.

Steve ignored the nausea, pushed aside the knowledge that any movement would bring blinding pain from the fractured leg. He threw his arms up desperate to tear at the red face, to drag his choking hold away from his neck as it took his vision and consciousness. He fought to break this hold. Bucky needed him.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky shook his head to dislodge the high-pitched muffled words that underscored the screeching sound in his right ear. A struggling push to his hands and knees left him swaying and dizzy from the shock’s after-effects.

His vision slowly cleared as he steadied himself, his focus fell to what was immediately beneath him. “Shit.” He blinked for certainty and still found the unconscious Widow lying under him less than a foot away from his face.

The screech in his ear peaked again, he winced and dug the comm out, tossing it across the entrance-way. He rocked himself back onto his haunches, leaving his full weight to straddle her legs. He studied her face, taking advantage of what he’d never seen before. Mother out cold. His finger moved cautiously forward to brush against the pulse at her neck.

“ _You killed her Soldat. You’ve killed Mother. Bastard.”_

The Voice often had piss-poor timing, he jumped and pulled his finger back. He groaned, “Shut up.”

“ _So much for the vow of no killing. Loser.”_

“Wasn’t trying to kill her, I think.” He pressed his finger to her neck again with less caution. Her body remained limp, her expression blank even as his weight shifted forward across her legs. The ragged throb that bounced against his fingertip pushed him to his feet. He staggered back until his leg hit the guardrail surrounding the launch silo. Post-shock nausea rose and fell, he swallowed and licked dry lips trying to find saliva. “I hate this feeling; I fucking hate this.”

“ _Damn medication side effects. Oh, wait, you’ve missed how many doses? Now it’s withdrawals. Great. Should be seeing the ghosts here soon.”_

Bucky shook his head more than his baseline nervous tic or tremor, “For the record, I did not miss you.” He absently poked at the swelling where the stun prod burned into his neck as he fought with his memory to recall what he was doing there. “Where’s Steve? Come on you’ve got an opinion on everything, help me out. Where’s Steve?” He leaned forward and closed his eyes, chasing down the flashes of events, black-clad men pressing in on him, Mother’s stun prod, the recoil of the shield hitting his metal palm. Those damn Russian trigger words that he overcame somehow.

_"How the hell did that happen? Maybe Mother made good on her promise."_

Steve remained elusive though, except for a picture of him as a kid at Coney Island on a roller coaster, puking.

 

“Hello? I’ve been talking to you. Are you talking to me, her, yourself or that voice in your head?” Sharon made a circling motion towards her temple when she mentioned the Voice. She stumbled forward towards him but stopped far out his reach. “You know, that was horrible, what she did to you. It must have hurt like hell.” Her voice had an added sing-song fake sympathetic tone. She clutched at her stomach, limped a few steps then gave a mildly dramatic groan. “That old woman packs a punch.” She glanced sideways at him and waved towards Sokolov, “She’s a tough old bird, let’s hope she wakes up. She kicked the crap out of me. Look.” She pointed to the blood on her face and torn clothes. “Who knew a ninety-pound granny could beat the hell out of a younger, stronger, smarter operative.” Her hand dropped to finger the weapon on her hip.

Bucky raised his head to take her in once her words registered. The search for her name didn’t matter, the flash of anger at an image of Steve trusting her was all he needed. Bucky didn’t let the stumble over Mother’s body deter him from stalking towards her. His eye didn’t have to fall to her hand, that move was a given, there was no need for him to telegraph that he was ready for her. The rush of adrenaline that came with chasing down a prey put his exhaustion aside and fueled the recollection that he was there to save Steve.

The distance closed between them quicker than she expected, “You can move pretty quick for an over-medicated disoriented has-been assassin.” Her back-pedaled steps ended at a wall with his flesh hand wrapped around her throat. She spat at him when his metal hand stripped her of the weapon. He pressed the full weight of his body into hers pinning her tight to the wall.

“That old woman’s got quite the bag of tricks. I feel for you. No wonder she took your manhood.” Her words were defiant, but she fought for her breath as his fingers tightened around her neck. She choked, “Rumor has it you won’t kill anyone. Growl and posture all you want, I know you aren’t going to kill me.” She drove her knee towards his groin, clawed at his hand and face, dragged her fingers down between them straining to reach his balls, anything to distract the tightening grip that began to take her consciousness. Her face flushed with a red heat as she fought his hold and gasped for each breath. She flailed and squirmed with increasing desperation under the press of his body. She sputtered “Fuck you,” and scratched the burn on his neck. Nothing she did moved him.

Bucky had murder on his mind. All the guilt from remembering was shoved aside when he saw her. He could break her neck quickly, without an afterthought giving in to the cold, efficient Soldier without regret. His anger wanted this kill to be slow and painful; she deserved punishment, he wanted her to realize her life would ebb away slowly and she wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. He pressed his body close against hers, letting her share the tremors that coursed through him. They were worsening with every passing minute, reminding him that a seizure would take him soon. He steadied his forehead on her temple, his sweat mingling with hers. “Hearing is the last to go.” He whispered, “I want the last sound you hear to be my breath hot on your cheek.”

He pushed up against her throat, lifting her off her feet, leaving her dangling and kicking at him.

“ _This right here, Soldat, this feeling, so familiar, so strong, we’ve missed this haven’t we.”_

He’d had this feeling countless times before, the sensation of life flowing away from this world through his hand. He’d allowed others to kick, claw and scream their protests when he came for them. The sound of diminishing choking breaths, spit out words of defiance, desperate pleas for mercy were hurled at him in the past. Her response was textbook. It fell into that familiar comforting pattern of bringing death to the deserving and the innocent. The surge of feeling in control filled him. A fleeting hint of disdain for her ---for life, crossed his mind. With his forehead pressed against hers, he could see the veins in her eyes begin to pop red; her pupils started to dilate. A cold, impassive study of her death brought back the memory of a feeling that only came when he killed. He never felt it anymore, now that he was overwhelmed by guilt and shame. This old sensation fell away in the battle for his sanity. He felt powerful. Ending her life filled him with the overwhelming sense of power. He always imaged that this is how his handlers felt. Omnipotent, all-encompassing, without mercy.

Something he never wanted to feel ever again.

“ _Do it Soldat, kill her, she deserves it. This is what you were born to do.”_

Bucky let go.

Sharon fell curled at his feet and sucked in long, deep and desperate gasps of air.

“Where is he?” Bucky grabbed the discarded weapon and shoved it in his holster.

“You are pathetic aren’t you?” Her voice was barely audible.

“Where is he?” He didn’t look at her as he crossed to Mother’s unconscious form.

She could read from the tight coil of his body, the balanced stance that he was more than capable of doling out a fate worse than death. She vowed to take her new found respect for him to her grave. “Down there.” She waved a dismissive hand towards the dark corridor beyond the launch bay.

“Where exactly?” He tilted his head towards her.

“I don’t know exactly.” She mocked.

Sharon thought she was ready for his move but still found herself careening across the floor towards the silo, catching the railing post with one arm to stop the eighteen-story fall.

A metal hand dragged her up, shoved her against the rail and wrapped it tightly around her waist.

“You asshole.” She spit at him.

If his soul wasn’t aching, he would have smirked at her.

“Go on be the hero. Go find your lover. You two deserve one another.”

Bucky crossed to the stun prod and slowly picked it up. It was lighter than he expected. He chewed at his lip wondering if he’d ever touched it before now. His gaze went from the prod to Mother and back again.

“ _Gave her a taste of her own medicine Soldier. Now she knows how it feels.”_

“No, you’re wrong. Not the plan. You know why. I can’t fight her. It was the only way to break her hold.” He didn’t hide his conversation with the Voice.

“God, you really are crazy, talking to yourself.” Sharon huffed a strangled laugh.

The prod snapped easily in two, he dropped the pieces on Mother’s body before picking up the shield.

“All that strength and power and look at you now. A pathetic idiot.”

“ _Perhaps you should choke her again, her voice is coming back.”_

He allowed a small sigh. “Ok, Steve. On my way. Really hope you still have that damn cord on you.” He shook the tracker to life and studied the slow red blink as he stared down the dimly lit corridor.

“Look at you now, ineffective, emotional, weak. Controlled by an old woman and Rogers. You’re a loser. You couldn’t even kill me.”

 

The last thing he heard her scream sounded like “And your hair is too damn long you fucking hippie.” He murmured “Steve likes it.”

“ _Soldat, he does like your hair that way, doesn’t he. By the way, what’s a hippie?”_

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“We need to get in there, Fury, now. We need to get to them now.” Natasha stood toe-to-toe with him just beyond the damaged doors.

“I know that Romanova. We’ve got torches on the way. Explosives, we will get it open as fast as we can.”

Sam grabbed her arm, “Who the hell was that big scary-looking dude? Red face, tall, buff, very buff.”

“He’s someone from the past. He knew Barnes years ago, in the Red Room.”

“Oh, a fraternity brother? A friend from his Red Room days? Wasn’t that fifty years ago? How old is that guy?” Sam was not going to hide his skepticism.

“All we have is what Sharon told us and what I overheard. His name is Alexei Shostokov, he’s serum enhanced, and he knew Barnes years ago in the Red Room. Sam, we need to get in there.”

He waved for her to follow him, “Come on, I’ve got an idea. What happened between them?”

Natasha shook her head as they ran towards the air vent pipe, “Barnes will not be happy if I tell you this story.”

“Come on, Nat, Barnes is chronically unhappy. Besides, the need-to- know-level is elevated, that guy’s trying to kill them, I may need this information to save them.”

“That’s BS.” She paused, a sure sign she was about to spill the beans. “You are sworn to secrecy. Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was brought to the Red Room as a trainer. He had an affair with one of the girls. She was promised to someone else; she chose Barnes.”

“They didn’t exactly live happily ever after I take it.”

“No. When the handlers learned about it, they pulled him from the program, erased his memory, brutally erased it, and put him in cryostasis.”

“The girl?”

“She died. I don’t know those details."

“Let me guess. The big guy is the jilted promised man?” Sam slowed his run as they approached the stone vent.

“Correct.”

“He’s looking pretty good for ninety-nine or so years. I’m guessing he’s serum enhanced gone wrong.”

“That is my guess.”

“This is it. I’ll boost you up, see if you’ll fit.”

“So you’ve already tried to get down here I take it?” She tugged on his arm to glance at the linear tears on the front and back of his uniform.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s got a lot of buildup in there.”

“Good thing you didn’t get stuck.” She raised an eyebrow as he laced his fingers to push her to the top.

“So you were going to drag the shield down here with his weapons? That was the plan?” It was Natasha’s turn to be skeptical. “I can barely fit in here.”

“We were planning on the go. Barnes came up with it.” Sam blamed him since he wasn’t there to defend himself and would never remember who dreamed up the plan in the first place. Sam mumbled, “Ah the upside of Barnes’ memory wipes.”

“Remind me when Barnes became the brains of the outfit?” Natasha still blamed Sam.

“I think I can get down here, barely. Meet me at the control room door.”

“Yes, Ma’m.” He saluted.

“I heard that, and I felt that salute. You are on thin ice, Wilson."

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“He’s coming for you.” Shostokov’s words were tense with excitement. His whisper broke through Steve’s fog after being choked into unconsciousness. “Can you hear that? The sound of gunfire bouncing off the shield. I can barely contain my anticipation. Can you feel it?”

Hands pawed through his hair, tugging his head back against the chair. Steve pulled away, but the move sent his head into a dizzying spin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “So, tell me what this is all about?” His words slurred slowly.

“Too much medication, Steve? Or not enough air? I’m sorry. Here just sit back and relax, this will soon be over.” Gloved hands pressed his shoulders into the chair. “Yes, I suppose it is time to tell you my sad story.” Fingers stroked his neck, “To answer your question, the asset destroyed my life.” He leaned close to Steve’s face but dodged his sluggish headbutt easily.

He gestured with a flourish towards the far wall as a new video began. “The beautiful Alena. So much promise, so gentle and pure.”

Steve turned away, but the image was larger than life and hard to ignore. A beautiful young girl with long red hair smiling shyly at the camera. He could imagine Bucky taking a liking to her.

Shostokov’s hands on his ankle brought him back into the moment, “Your friend, the asset killed her with his bare hands. Or should I say his bare hand, singular? He is a monstrosity after all.”

Steve braced to stay silent when the pain from the twist shot up his leg.

“So much control, Steve. Not like your friend. In this incarnation. So emotional. You know he wasn’t that way as the asset.” He tapped his foot to emphasize the words. “He was a cold-hearted killer. Did you know that he once wiped out...”

“I prefer to call him well rounded. Yin and Yang, in touch with his sensitive side. Works for me.” He pushed the words out through gritted teeth.

“There it is. Listen.” Shostokov pointed excitedly towards the door. “You must be accustomed to that sound, the distinctive noise it makes. The shield, when it flies through the air. Although I’m sure, you are much more proficient at it than he is. Too bad he won’t have time to perfect it. You can hear it clang to the floor when he misses.” His laughter was high-pitched and weak.

“He got past your goons out there, didn’t he? I’d say he’s doing fine.”

“Yes well, you may find that sick old woman had something to do with that. But he is getting closer. Time for me to go. For now.” He dragged his hand up Steve’s abdomen to his throat, “He soiled her, Captain. Took her from me and destroyed us. He humiliated me in front of her. I vowed he would pay. That day is here.”

Steve pushed his hand away, “I thought you wanted his memories? You said the Widow hid information in his memory.”

“Yes, indeed, she did. We will get the information. I will get my revenge. He killed the one I loved. I will kill the one he loves. We will be even.” 

 

Steve pulled himself up to watch as Shostokov left the room. He fought down the light-headedness and nausea that assailed him with every movement. The flicker of the video feed cast sepia-toned light around the room, enough for him to get a better look at his leg. He could just make out the outline of the bone protruding out of his thigh at a distinctly awkward angle. “Damn.”

Every movement to reach the strap around his right ankle brought a fresh wave of sweat-soaking pain. He pulled at his left pant leg to get it under himself and tried again to reach the restraint. Each attempt sent his head spinning. He fell back to let the dizziness subside. The video played on in front of him. Young girls and women grappling with one another, an instructor walking the room, demonstrating the moves, speaking the fluent Russian words. The girl with the sweet smile and red hair spoke shyly with the instructor who returned her warmth. “Only a fool would miss that connection." He murmured. Steve wasn’t surprised when the long-haired instructor turned around; he recognized the smile. Not cocky or a smirk from the days before the war, but innocent and warm, like the day they first met.

 

A shuffling sound followed by a break in the shadows on his left drew his attention. He braced for yet another visit from Shostokov. “Did you miss me, asshole?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Bucky spoke quietly as his eyes fell on the images of himself and the girl from the Red Room. He sighed and whispered, “Alena.”


	34. The Reunion

The pale yellow light that spilled through the open door cut through the flickering darkness enough for Steve to see Bucky standing within an arm’s reach. He was a disheveled, blood-stained, shield-carrying welcomed sight even if he was staring with shock at the grainy film, muttering the name of a girl from his past. A relieved sigh nearly led to a string of drug-induced sappy words of endearment. He opted for slurred sarcasm, “Sokolov’s right, you – are a disobedient, unruly child that never listens.” He wagged a finger to underline his words, “I told you not to come after me.”

Bucky mumbled, “Who? Oh, Mother.” A metal finger tapped at his temple, “Sorry, not Mother. But hey you’ve got ‘em on the ropes here, I can see you’ve got this completely under control as always. I’m just here to give you a ride home.” His attempt at humor didn’t defuse his rising sense of shame as he fell head-long into Mother’s trap. “What is this?”

“ _You know what this is. Mother knows how to hurt you doesn’t she Soldat? She knows how to stop you dead. Emphasis on dead.”_

He dragged in a ragged breath to settle the rising cold sickness as he watched the Soldier standing with the red-haired girl. A whispered, “I remember this.” The bite to his cheek left the oddly comforting taste of his own blood on his tongue.

“ _Well this is awkward, that’s you Soldat, in all of your Hydra glory. Well, maybe not all of your glory. You screwed up after all. You killed her.”_

“Stop. Talking. Let me think.” He shook his head then pointed at the images, his distracted monologue was nearly drowned out by the audio feed, “That’s me. Right? I remember. Her name was Alena. I think he --- I cared about her a long time ago. Not sure? I know, it’s a feeling now, warm inside - then it gets cold, freezing and sick.” The shield slipped from his forearm, the echoing clang sent a shudder through his body. It only bought a few seconds of relief from his past-self spewing fluent Russian. “She died, right after this, maybe I did it? Or not. No, not me?” His gaze caught on a wavering shadow that loomed against the wall just beyond Steve. “My fault though, stupid, just stupid of me, should’ve known better, Mother was jealous, she hated her, hated that I looked at her.”

Steve heard the subtle play of the metal arm as Bucky clenched and unclenched his fist. A split second was devoted to appreciating that he could tell what he was thinking by the nuanced shifting of the plates. The current sound of its movement led him to suck in a deep breath and lunge to grab his flesh hand. “Hey pal, enough. Stop it.” His fingers skimmed across his skin, he swung again, to catch his wrist then crawled his fingers deeper across his palm until he had him in a tight grip. “Ancient history, let it go. Need you over here now.”

Bucky didn’t close his hand around Steve’s, but the metal arm went quiet. The murmured dialogue continued, “These memories are hard, they move around a lot, you know. No, you don’t know, how would you? It’s dark in there, flashes of light, no colors though. Gray spots bumping into dead people.”

Steve dragged on his arm, “Stop it, not your fault, come to me.” The tension on the fractured leg sent a hot flush across his skin. “We’re not out of this yet. Shostokov is here, looking for you.” A ragged pulse throbbed under the finger pressed to his wrist, a cold sweat covered their palms. “Come on, look at me, shake it off, buddy.”

Bucky’s gaze never connected with Steve’s, his eyes and words drawn only to the shadow-figure he thought he saw along the wall. “Nothing happened, not like he --- you said. I never, we didn’t, but Mother, the handlers, everyone believed it.”

“Buck, damn it, look at me.” Steve hauled himself back, dragging again on Bucky’s arm with enough force to knock him off balance. The move sent a shock-wave of pain through his leg and a fresh roll of nausea from his gut. “Get the hell over here.”

A stumble over the shield dropped Bucky hard on his knees, his metal hand skidding through a sticky pool of residue underneath Steve’s leg. His flailing resistance waned as Steve’s arms wrapped around him, pulling his head against his chest, holding his body tight into his own. The rhythmic throb of Steve’s heart pulsed under his cheek; he relented into the embrace.

“Hey, pal. Hold on. It’s Steve; I’m real. Enough ghosts. That Voice is not real. I know it’s getting louder, I know you need the medications, but we’ve gotta focus. You hear me?” The tremor coursing through Bucky spilled into Steve’s chest. He dragged his hand through his hair, “You with me, I need you to talk to me, not the Voice, are you with me?”

Bucky burrowed his arms behind him, pulling himself up to lie along his chest, willing himself to climb inside of his skin. His slow nod along the damp shirt led to eyes closed, deep breath to pull in his scent; the sweat and blood couldn’t overwhelm what grounded him. “With you. Yup. Here, now, real. With you, with Steve.” He sighed, “Tired, so tired, we need to go home, need the meds, need you.”

Steve pushed the hair back from his face, “I know, soon, I promise, it’s just we’ve got problems here. Listen, Shostokov, a man named Alexei Shostokov, he’s here.”

Bucky grew still, “Who? Shostokov?”

Steve slipped a hand under his chin, looking for eye contact, “Big guy, red all over, pissed-off, very pissed-off.”

Bucky dug his hands in deeper, “I don’t know. Everybody’s pissed at me, except you. I think. Right? Red all over?” He squeezed himself closer between his legs.

Steve tugged at his head, trying to lift him from his chest, “Buck, come on, this is important, he’s hard to miss. He said you knew him. He wants revenge.”

“Knew me? Sure.” He pulled his face away from Steve’s insistent hands but stayed wrapped into him, “Shostokov loved her.” A quick glance over his shoulder towards the looped video was pulled back when Steve caught his face. He rubbed his cheek into his palm and went with the pull. “Alexei hated me. He must be --- I don’t know? Ninety-nine? An old man now. How much trouble can he be? He wasn’t, red back then. He needs to get in line for the revenge thing. Me first.”

His attempt to drop back onto Steve’s chest was thwarted when he grabbed his shoulders, “Buck, trust me, more trouble than you can imagine. Did you see him? Where is he?”

“Steve, it was dark.” Bucky came close to rolling his eyes, “There was an army out there, flashing guns, smoke, stupid comm feedback from the shock, can’t hear anything. That damn shield hit me in the chest; I nearly puked up my bowels. Wait. Red, big guy, yeah, sure I saw him, he’s down, all good. I want to go home. Home to the house, not a fucking clinic or Wilson’s back porch. Home. Our home.”

His sudden pull at Steve’s lower back, to lift him out of the chair, was stopped by a loud groan and the tight-lipped gasped comment, “My leg, pal, maybe we need to get that restraint off and well, go slow. It’s broken.”

Bucky’s hand instinctively moved towards Steve’s fractured leg; he held his touch when the flickering video let a brighter light fall across the protruding, bloody bone. A cold chill of recognition ran down his back. “Mother did this? She did this. I did this.” His focus cleared to finally take in the sticky pool of blood and the macabre twist to Steve’s lower leg. “My fault, I didn’t protect you. I let her go. My fault.”

The surge of anger towards the old Widow turned into a powerful self-loathing that drove him to put distance between himself and Steve. He whispered, “Let go. I need to move. I can’t be here. I can’t be near you; I hurt you.” The struggle to get away escalated when Steve held fast, lacing his fingers into the vest. “Let me go.” He pawed at Steve’s hands, shoved at his chest, ducked down to slip under his arms. The twisting pull to escape made his knees skid in the blood, the slipping feeling pulled forward sickening memories of battles that took place in the blood and guts of the fallen. The knowledge that it was Steve who held him gave way to the frightening sensation of being held against his will; it threw open the floodgates to all of his underlying panic. “Get the fuck off me. Let me go.”

“Not gonna happen, pal. I told you. Never letting go again, so let’s just ride this shit out.” Steve threw his good leg around his thigh, locked his arms behind Bucky’s back and dragged his squirming, growling body as tight to himself as his own skin. The thought that any chance of a life with Bucky would be gone if he let him slip away right now pushed all of his remaining strength into the hold. “You didn’t do this. She did. He did this. Stop it.”

Steve's mind slammed him back in time to that train, to the burned in his memory image of Bucky falling, his arms outstretched, face covered in fear, desperately screaming his name. Their struggle in this moment was real, the jolting nauseating pain with every jerking motion was more than real, but all that filled his consciousness was Bucky falling. So he held on. This time he had him, held tight to his body, tucked in close, safe. He wasn’t going to lose him, not this time. “Never losing you again.” He whispered. “Never letting go.”

Somewhere in behind the audio feed playing his own voice speaking Russian with more than a little skill, he heard a voice. Not The Voice but Steve’s voice, saying “Never letting go.” His mind added the phrase “You punk. Or is it jerk? It’s both.” It was enough of a hiccup in his racing thoughts to trip up his panic over Steve’s broken leg. He sucked in a long, ragged breath as his body gave in to the exhaustion that he had barely kept at bay for the last few days. His struggle to escape the only hold he ever wanted to stay in ended with him sprawled across Steve’s chest, holding in the sob that threatened to show itself. He pressed his ear to his heart, let his head ride the rise and fall of his breathing, the feeling of Steve’s body under his weight sent a rush of blood to his groin. He pushed that distraction aside, his words stumbled against his chest, “Steve. You didn’t let go.”

“Nope. Although you put up a hell of a fight, I won.” His grip relaxed enough to relieve the cramps that were assailing his entire body. “We gotta get out of here. I can’t listen to that damn audiotape any longer. Honestly, if I ever hear you speak Russian again, I’m going to puke. Come on, get that restraint off my leg.”

Bucky stared, then frowned, then stuttered, “Ah, you do know I didn’t choose the in-flight movie here, right? It’s pretty damn disturbing for me too. Just for the record.”

“Sorry, sorry, drugs, it’s the drugs.” Steve tugged at his hair, pulling his head back to place his lips quickly on the top of his head.

Bucky muttered, “Forgiven,” as his shaking hands pushed the tongue through the buckle, he winced with each tight gasp of air or muscle twitch from Steve. The chewed flesh in his mouth bled again with the renewed channeling of his anxiety as he gingerly raised the ankle out of the final strap to prop it on the footrest. He sighed and fell back onto his haunches while Steve panted loudly through the pain.

“I’m going to kill her.” He stared at the bloody mess that was Steve’s leg.

“What did you say?” The screaming pain dulled Steve’s hearing.

“I said, I’m going to kill her. Right now. I know where she is. I’m going to kill her.”

“Get up here.” He reached a hand towards him, but Bucky didn’t take it. “Get up here.” He tried to catch the collar of his vest; Bucky ducked away. “Don’t make me chase you. I’ll still win, even with a broken leg.” He lunged to grab the collar and tugged, “Get up here.”

Bucky shrugged off his grip but got up to brace his knees between Steve’s legs, resting on the chair seat, his hands flat on his chest, the position put their eyes level. His words were deliberate and precise, “I am going to kill her. You can’t stop me. I don’t care about my soul anymore. I’m damned anyway. Might as well take her out with me.”

Steve's confusion turned to concern, then anger. “No. No, you will not kill her.” His hands cupped Bucky’s face, he pushed his hair back, “You are not damned, not in this world, not in any world.” He pulled his gaze back to him when he tried to look away. “I get it, I get that you feel guilty, that you remember what happened, what you did, but I will never accept that you had any control over it. Never.” He pulled him close to press a careful kiss on his forehead, “I care about your soul even if you don’t.”

The look of fiercely intense devotion that filled Steve’s eyes sent a rush of heat through Bucky’s heart. He wanted that look directed at him, all day, every day, forever. It cut through his self-hate, quieted his panic and pushed the Voice far into the background of his thoughts. He did the next logical thing in his mind. His open-mouthed kiss filled Steve’s mouth with his tongue licking and probing as deep as he’d allow. Dry lips scraped together, wet by Bucky’s tongue, licking, biting and tugging at his lower lip, he pushed him back into the chair and grabbed the back of his head to fill Steve with the kiss. His tremor driven body hovered over him, he nearly climbed into his lap but pulled back when he heard the hiss of pain muffled by his own hungry kiss. A knee came up to wrap around Steve’s thigh, pushed by his need to press their hips as close as he could, despite the broken leg. He panted through the heat of Steve’s hands as he grabbed his ass to pull him in, his fingers digging deep into the muscles. Steve’s groan when his metal fingertips raked down the skin of his chest brought on a smirk that was only curtailed by his own whine as Steve drove probing fingers between his legs to brush against his balls.

 

“How crassly romantic. A tragic embrace before death. No words of love or devotion? Or is all about the sex?”

The Russian accented voice startled them from the deep-throat kissing, Bucky fell back and swung around to face directly towards the suspect shadow he’d seen earlier. His adrenalin fueled heart rate switched from being driven by imminent sex to the rush of facing a fight.

A heartbeat passed.

The video stopped, the room went dark.

“Shit. This is not good.” Bucky gave in to his new found habit of out-loud fight commentaries now that he wasn’t the Soldier. His eyes darted to the shield lying less than three feet from where he was standing.

Steve mumbled, “I thought you took care of him out there, pal?” His hand braced on Bucky’s back.

Blinding white light suddenly filled the room, assailing their retinas. Steve ducked his head into his arm.

Bucky closed his eyes and slammed his foot onto the edge of the shield, his metal hand snagged the rim as it flipped through the air, he drove it onto his forearm and turned towards the shadow-man.

“I should say it is good to see you again Soldat, it is good for me but not for the two of you.” The voice came from the spot where Bucky was sure his Voice had manifested.

“See Steve. I told you.” His whispered, “The Voice is real,” did not go unnoticed by Steve.


	35. Sometimes Darkness

Gieta Sokolov, Black Widow, architect, and guardian of the trigger words buried deep in the Soldier’s brain had never felt the bite of her own sting. The roll to her knees, the disoriented sway were followed by a nearly silent hiss of pain when she flexed the fractured hand. Flashes of recent events rolled through her memory. What stood out was the Soldier, their hands embraced together on the shield, fingers entwined on the stun prod as they drove it into his neck, the blinding white light when the shock rode through their bodies. A smile crept across her face; she rasped, “Glorious, Soldat.” Her celebration was interrupted by Sharon.

 

“You poor thing, what a terrible disappointment, the way he turned on you, that shock must have hurt like H-E-double L.” Her commentary didn’t stop her struggle to escape the metal railing restraint she was in, courtesy of Bucky. A small bead of sweat formed at her temple, the only outward sign she allowed regarding the 18-story drop that nipped at her heels. “Although let’s face it, that was karma with a cherry on top. Now, come on over here and help me get out of this mess.”

 

Mother’s look of post-shock confusion was short-lived. Her expression turned hard, her defense, quiet, even as she cradled her deformed hand, “He never meant to hurt me.”

 

Sharon sighed while she pushed against the metal around her waist, “Oh, right, that was an oops. The crushed hand, while he shocked the shit out of you, was a mistake. We call that adding insult to injury. Not sure how you say that in Russian.” A mumbled litany of swear words intensified when the rusted bolts holding the railing creaked in response to her movement. She paused to glance at the old Widow kneeling next to her, “Here, I’m not busy, no worries, let me help you up.” Her extended hand was slapped aside. “Ok, fine, do it yourself.”

 

Sokolov pulled in a long tight-lipped breath to launch a Russian expletive-filled rant that echoed through the bay as she staggered herself upright. A slow move to shove the displaced hair back from her face revealed her growing look of fierce determination as her gaze fell towards where she knew the Soldier would have gone. Deep into the bowels of the complex to find the Captain.

 

An echo of debris hitting the filth-infested bottom of the launch silo escalated Sharon’s attempt to win over the Widow, “He’s so ungrateful. You’ve protected him all these years, nurtured him and what thanks does he give you? Turns your righteous discipline into payback, stomps on your toy. Now he’s running off to save his friend, boyfriend, no less, defying you. He’s nothing but a wild-child masquerading in a man’s body.” She threw in a discretionary afterthought, “But he’s your wild-child of course. How about some help here?”

 

Sokolov’s gaze fell on Sharon. A hint of a smile crossed her face when her eyes locked on how she hung at the edge of the silo, trapped by the railing, “My Soldat did not want you to escape did he?” She kicked the broken stun prod over the edge, the rattle of its fall ended in a dull and distant thud. “There are always more weapons like these but only one Soldier. You are in no position to ridicule me or him, child. I suspect your former friends will be in here soon enough.” She waved towards the blast doors. “A double agent Ms. Carter is a dangerous game, no loyalties, no grounding. You may have disdain for my methods, but my loyalty to the Soldier is unwavering. In the end, he will remain loyal to Mother. He always has, I trust he will prove himself loyal again.” She turned towards the corridor that led below.

 

Sharon hissed as her wriggle down to escape took her breath, “Hey you know, your boy’s losing it. I saw it myself. Self-dialogue, heartbreaking.” Her push up freed her chest; she gasped “Scary to see such a specimen descend into madness. He nearly killed me, he blew it, needs you I guess. Gone soft. Probably those auditory hallucinations yammering on.” An absent gesture towards her head, “You can see it in his eyes when he’s listening to it.” Her moves to slide free past the jagged edge of metal raked across her skin and tore at her clothes. A groaned, “He gets that damn spooky far-away look. Blathers on out loud.” Her forced shudder ended in “Freaky.”

 

The old Widow stared down the darkened corridor, “Ms. Carter, you still do not understand our connection. He needs me now more than ever. That Voice has been there for years; I put it there to control him, the trigger words, the conditioning, all my work. Only I can undo it. If I choose to. If he truly wants that. But I suspect, in the end, he will choose me.” She stepped again to follow the Soldier.

 

A sudden explosion at the blast door hinge upped Sharon’s urgency, “Wait, let’s work together. I need your help; you need my help, your hand is broken, he’s a mess. We can double-team him. I can help you control him. I’ve already planned our escape; there’s a van in the woods, keys under the mat, tranquilizers, restraints. We’ve got this. I’ve even stowed away a nice new stun prod, state-of-the-art, black, packs a sincere wallop.” She doubled her efforts to squeeze between the railing pieces and tried to ignore the grating noise coming from the loosening bolts at her feet.

 

Sokolov held her step and gazed over her shoulder towards Sharon. “You’ve thought of everything my dear. Perhaps you’re right. I should consider all options including keeping enemies close.” She moved to search through a large tool chest.

 

“Yes, great. Let’s get the hell out of here. Find a crowbar, something to pry this apart. So here’s the plan. We lose the granny-1960’s spy look and get you into the 21st Century; we’ll get you a sleek Mohawk cut, throw some color in there, all black outfit, you’ll outshine that turn-coat Widow Romanova. Hell, a new look, maybe your Soldier will develop a thing for older women.” The grinding noise of the doors being breached pushed her fight to escape and her words into over-drive, “Speaking of secrets in his head. Now that you’ve got them all, how about we take advantage of that? We get the money; we use the names, places to our advantage. You, me and that asshole, I mean asset. Hey, maybe a threesome? Nope, nevermind, just a little stressed here. Forget I suggested it.”

 

The echoing sound of gunfire and the ping of the vibranium shield wafted up from the depths of the corridor stopped both of their efforts. Sokolov squinted into the darkness, the flashes of light from the firefight pulsed brightly then faded slowly away to finally end. “Soldat?” She turned towards the fading sounds.

 

Sharon growled, “Dammit, Sokolov, help me get loose. Time for some in your face truth. It’s too late for him. Barnes, the asset, the Soldier whatever you call him is a piece of ...” She caught the look of anger on Sokolov’s face, “Okay, don’t mind me, it’s just displaced anger towards Rogers, nothing personal against your boy, it’s just, you know, jilted lover, blah, blah, blah.” She wriggled and shimmied, straining to pull free as the railing creaked and swayed. “Look, we both know Shostokov’s gonna toss him around like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum with his stuffed teddy bear. Then he’s gonna kill him and Rogers. It’ll be over before you get there. Let’s you and I get the hell out of here.” She pulled one butt-cheek nearly free and rested on the edge of the railing as it wobbled precariously under her weight.

 

Sharon hissed when the old Widow continued to stare down the corridor, “Can you smell that disgusting odor wafting up the hallway, that’s testosterone. The not-so-alluring stench of too much of it, the three of them, fighting it out over what? A lost love? Give me a fucking break. I’m gonna puke. Let’s get out of here. We’ll find you a new boy-crush, or girl-crush, whatever.” Her eyes darted to the sound of pounding on the blast doors, “Speaking of testosterone overload here comes Fury, he’s gonna be in here, and you’ll finally get to see the Raft, up close and personal.”

 

The rush of adrenalin as the doors slowly ground open assaulted Sharon’s brain and took over her logic, she ramped up her tirade, “You can’t think he cares about you? The way you’ve treated him. Stun prods, abuse, seventy years of control, all well and good in a consenting adult BDSM relationship sure, maybe great even,” she threw in a shrug. “But this, what you have with him...sick just plain sick. Have you ever seen how that relic Rogers looks at him? The devotion is disgusting but undeniable. Nevermind how Barnes looks at Rogers, a complete jackass level of adoration, that, you-saved-my-soul kind of look. I don’t even need to stick my finger down my throat on that one. Girlfriend, you are completely oblivious to how he looks at you. Pure disgust.”

 

The jolt of pain that tore through her gut knocked the wind out of her words. She blinked the Widow into focus, first the cold glare, then the thin-line of a smile. Sharon’s eyes fell next to the hand wrapped around the handle of a screwdriver. The one that was buried up to its hilt angled up into her gut.

“You bitch.” A thin spittle of blood fell as she spoke.

Sokolov murmured, “You, Agent Carter, talk too much. A very unfortunate trait in our line of work.”

It took Mother three full kicks to break the railing from its moorings. She remained impassive towards Sharon’s desperate attempts to snag at her arms, and drag on her clothing. Her whisper, “And some enemies you kill my dear,” was the last thing Sharon heard as her scream mingled with the grate of metal tearing away from concrete as she hurtled to the bottom of the silo.

Mother smiled as the inner blast doors that secured the lower reaches closed behind her, leaving Fury and his team scrambling through the launch bay. A well-placed screwdriver shorted out the controls. Her steps quickened as she descended into the darkness, “Hold on, my Soldat, Mother is on her way.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky settled the shield on his forearm; the sudden white-hot light blinded him to the red leather freight train that was Shostokov as he crashed into his chest and drove him off his feet. Air rushed from his lungs when he landed draped over his shoulder.

Both Steve and the Voice shouted the unnecessary advice. “Use the shield!” He drove the edge hard into Alexei’s lower back.

A shock of pain jarred through his body when Shostokov slammed him into the wall. Nausea rolled in as the follow-through cracked his head against the concrete. The warm wetness that spilled down his neck sent a rush of angry urgency through him that was sidetracked by the knee jammed into his groin.

“ _Soldat, get your shit together. Another hit like that, and you’ll never have sex again.”_

The muffled groan was more for the Voice than it was for the hit.

“Do you remember me, Soldat?” The words snarled close to his face, the tone and lilt tore at his memory. The man’s voice brought back the cold sickness that wrapped around Bucky when the memories of the Red Room came. Stuttering images flashed across his mind; the blood and sweat of the fighting pits, a kind touch, angry words, a warmth that flowed into a static cold, a formidable giant of a man that wanted him dead. He shook away the final image of Mother.

A spit attempt at an answer was cut short by a gloved hand that pressed tight around his neck. Bucky braced a foot on the wall and drove his metal fist hard into the red skin and sunken face. A guttural growl spilled out as he rammed the shield into Shostokov’s hip. Flesh and ribs gave to the force of his metal hand as he pounded into his gut.

Shostokov caught his arm, the torque of equal strength brought them to an impasse. Bucky pulled in a stifled breath when the weight of Alexei’s body pressed onto his chest.

“You don’t remember me?” Shostokov found a mocking tone despite the fractured ribs, “Of course not, the memory suppression machine. You have, issues, with your memory.” A gloved finger stroked across the burn on his throat. “But you remembered her name just now. Alena.” He drew out the syllables as he fingered his neck. “I heard you say her name, Soldat.”

The plates in the metal arm shifted, Bucky yanked down to break free of Alexei’s grip and pounded into his kidney. “Fuck.” The expletive spewed out when a knee drove into his groin again. The shield crashed against the red face, then down to his hip, back to his face. His lungs screamed for air as the hand around his throat tightened down. He stayed focused on Alexei’s kidney. The arm sensors registered its progress; the internal bleeding sent a vague tingling sensation creeping into his brain as the flesh gave to his efforts. He knew the feeling from a recipient’s point of view and pushed harder.

The crash of the IV pump as it hit the back of Shostokov’s head startled them both. His groan and gasp for air gave Bucky the inch of space he needed to snag the shield edge on the point of Alexei’s jaw and rake it across his face, taking a layer of thin red skin.

Bucky fell away and scrambled back to Steve, he spun towards Alexei, pressed his leg against Steve’s thigh and panted his thanks, “Nice throw.” The press of Steve’s hand on his hip settled his pounding heart; his hand swung back to wrap around Steve’s wrist. The sweat and screaming memories didn’t relent to his head shake. He balanced the shield, his stance, and his curiosity. He muttered, “Shit. What the hell happened to you?”

Shostokov flexed his anger down into his fists, a menacing prowl arced near Bucky then away. He ignored the question and the bleeding flap of skin that hung from his cheek. He growled, “A lifetime of planning went into this moment. I don’t care about the old woman’s secrets. Hydra is dying. Their secrets can die in your head when I’m done with you." He waved a dismissive hand and mocked, “Look at you, a shivering, pathetic echo of the powerful weapon that Hydra made. I had hoped for more of a challenge at our final match, Soldat.”

Bucky took a deep, steadying breath and addressed the heart of the matter quietly, “I never touched her.”

Shostokov veered his arc closer. “Liar. You killed her.”

“No. I live with the dead on my kill list; she’s not one of them. Her death belongs to you.”

An angry tremor shook his hand as Alexei pointed and spat, “Your doing, asset. You soiled her mind. Turned her against me.”

“She was kind to me. That was her only mistake. Well, and trusting you. Do your soul some good, if you have one, and admit it. We’ll be dead soon, so we won’t tell. You killed her. Right?”

Shostokov paced, growled, clenched his fists, then stopped so close to Bucky he could see the blood beading along the gash on his face. He whispered, “My hand. Your indiscretion. It had to be done.”

Steve breathed “Damn, that’s cold.”

Bucky rolled his metal shoulder while the confession settled in his memory. He let a near snarl cross his face, “I remember you now. I beat the shit out of you on more than one occasion for the education and entertainment of the Red Room which I’m guessing is the real reason for this revenge journey of yours.”

Shostokov spun away to prowl again; seconds passed, “I must make a crude but relevant observation, Soldat. You have balls. Metaphorically speaking. You spoke her name today after all these years, yet shed not one tear for her death?”

Steve’s hand gripped Bucky’s hip tighter. He whispered, “Ignore him. He’s just trying to get under your skin.”

Bucky’s shaking fingers tightened around Steve’s wrist. “Yup, done this before. Got it.”

Shostokov’s laugh started quietly but grew to a crescendo. Its echo underscored his words, “Although, the entertaining video of your past that the Captain has been watching provides undeniable evidence that you have anatomical balls as well. At least at the time when the film was created.”

Bucky’s murmured “Shit,” made it clear the words hit their mark as his gaze shifted away from Shostokov only to dart back. The whispered, “Steve?” brought another round of snarling laughter. His grip on Steve’s wrist loosened.

“Buck, he’s a lying piece of crap.” Steve wrapped his hand in the back of his vest and shook him. “We’ve got this, hang in with me.” The cold sweat and tremors rolled over him with the effort to pull his fractured leg from the footrest. He pushed to lift himself using the IV pole but fell back to the chair with each attempt.

Bucky shook his head and swatted at Steve, “Sit still. I’m ok. I got this. Just don’t fall and break the other leg.”

This fight was inevitable. He dug deep into his psyche to find the Soldier, hoping he’d settle the tremors, quiet the self-doubt, and abandon the shame he felt creeping in with Shostokov’s words. The Voice employed its usual disappearing act.

Bucky and Shostokov fell with comfort into the old routine. Watching for the tics and tells of an opponent, they let the moment hang silently between them before they both charged.

The clang of the shield reverberated in the small concrete room as it careened off the wall and plowed into Shostokov’s back pushing a grunted breath and a staggered step that didn’t stop his forward motion.

Bucky threw everything he had into the fight. The metal fist landed high and low, driving deep into the flesh; the sound of ribs and facial bones cracking, specks of blood filling the hand joints; it all brought on a strangely comforting feeling. The unrelenting rhythmic coordination that came from years of being the Soldier all fell into place. His anxiety-filled mind fell away as his focus narrowed down to the reassuring thuds, groans and expelled air that filled his hearing during a brawl.

The familiarity of a fight nearly threw off his guard. He caught sight of the knife just before it sliced across his throat, the head jerk away avoided the death-cut but not the cut that blinds. A rush of blood cascaded down his face as the blade sliced across his temple, blinding him to the fist that crashed into his face and laid him flat on the floor.

Bucky panted desperate breaths as Shostokov dug his fist into his hair and dragged him across the room. His panic rose full-force as he kicked and slid in his own blood. He grabbed the hand in his hair, struggled to get from his knees to his feet. His gut ached clear through to his back as Alexei pounded his fist into the soft flesh of his abdomen. He threw his hands up trying to avert the looming wall, but a hard shake knocked him off his feet, he fell forward, Alexei finished the move, slamming his head into the concrete. A rainbow of sparkling, cascading light filled his vision; a unicorn seemed to dance through his mind as his body crumpled to the floor and his vision turned to darkness.

Shostokov stood over Bucky’s limp body, his effort to breath hampered by the aftereffects of a brawl and the distinctive damage inflicted by a metal fist. Thick rivulets of sweat mingled with blood crisscrossed his face and neck. He drove a foot into Bucky’s gut and leaned over him, “I will admit, you were tougher than I gave you credit for but in the end. I win the...” His words were cut short by the stab of pain that ripped through his back. His spin around to face his attacker, dragged the IV pole turned spear from Steve’s hands and left it firmed planted in his back. “Captain. You can’t save him. Or yourself for that matter.” He pulled the offending pole from his back and stalked forward.

Steve hopped on one foot, “Maybe not. If we only die once, I’m gonna die with him.” He braced for the impending hit but added, “Fighting your sorry ass.”

 

Bucky thought he was dreaming. In it, he heard someone yelling at him to wake up. Maybe it was his Ma or Steve’s Ma. Either way, he ignored it. The dark sleep was too good, too comforting. He fought against the insistent urging, but it kept waffling in and out of his mind. It sounded a little like Steve. “What the hell is he yelling about?” Even the Voice seemed to be agitated and returned to narrate the scene.

“ _Soldat, you better get your ass in gear.”_

The longer he drifted, the louder the sounds became until it turned into a scream of pain that tore apart the darkness. It sounded a lot like Steve. Hearing him scream was such a god-damned foreign concept that his mind told him it was just another nightmare. He fought to stay floating above the chaos, reveling in the darkness.

“ _Soldat! You piece of shit. Get up! He’s killing Steve!”_

His eyes flew open.

Every fiber of his being ached as he staggered to his feet, dug at the small blade under his vest and tore across the room to land on Shostokov’s back. His arms and legs wrapped around him, tightening down the torque of his metal arm, riding out the staggering pace, screaming until his voice turned to shreds.

He drove the knife towards Alexei’s neck, their hands locked together on the handle.

Shostokov staggered and groaned, twisting to shake Bucky’s grip. The knife bounced and jittered along his skin, droplets of blood forming with every nick and cut as they spun and danced in their struggle. A crash into the wall, a spin to wipe Bucky’s body across the chair, then a final desperate move, he threw himself back towards the floor.

Bucky let go as they hurtled downward. He landed next to Shostokov, his metal arm taking the full weight of Alexei’s fall. The move saved him a whole lot of hurt but still took his wind. A split-second to mutter “Fuck” was all Shostokov needed to drag and jerk him to his hands and knees. The spinning and flashing lights settled down to the blurry image of a blond man that looked a lot like Steve lying near him. He blinked through the blood and throbbing to bring the unmoving body and face into focus. He strained to see his chest move, desperate to know if he was still breathing.

“All that pain and work and here we are. You die, he dies.” Shostokov panted in his ear. Bucky struggled against the arm around his neck and the leg that wrapped around his metal arm. He spit “Fuck you,” and tried to rise from his knees. Shostokov’s arm tightened, lifting his weight to dangle by his neck; he jerked his body.

“You always had such a foul mouth. Soldat. Mother would be so displeased.”

Shostokov knelt behind him, his arms and leg holding him tight to his body, his hand slid through the wetness that covered his face, his fingers toyed with his hair, scraped along the knife wound and pulled the blood onto his hand. A muted laugh close to Bucky's ear as he licked the sticky residue, “To the victor goes the spoils. Yes?”

A sob rose in Bucky's chest, the last thing he wanted during his final breath on this earth. He dove into a gut-wrenching scream that emptied his soul. Flesh fingers twitched at the feel of a knife handle, his hand shot up and found it’s mark, to bury the blade deep in Shostokov’s eye. The rush of blood and fluid washed over his fingers making his hand slide to crash into the destroyed flesh.

Shostokov’s scream filled his hearing but the arm tightened around his throat, dragging him back, cutting off his air. A hand grabbed his forehead, he fought against the twist and torque as Shostokov worked to snap his neck.

“ _So damned tired Soldat, just let him end it all. This is what you’ve wanted for so long. To rest. Finally to sleep without dreaming. Let him do it.”_

“Valid point, Barnes.” His own thoughts weighed in on the situation, “Maybe it’s time to check out. Let go. Finally get some damn sleep. Let him do it. Steve will be ok. He’s dead, just like you. Maybe on the other side, you’ll meet up. Oh, wait. You’ll be in hell. He won’t. Nevermind.”

Bucky’s vision faded, his lungs burned for air, he heard his own gasping struggle and Shostokov’s grunting efforts, and in the background of what was left of his senses he heard Steve say “Fight him, you jerk, or I’ll kill you myself.” Bucky would have laughed if he had any air left. His hand swung up, slapping and fumbling until he found the handle; he twisted the blade until his wrist burned with the spasm of pain. Shostokov’s body twitched; his arm went limp, his weight fell heavy against Bucky’s back. The tight grip of his leg around the metal arm dropped away as his body toppled to one side, a long agonal breath grew quiet.

The hungry gasps for air didn’t keep Bucky from scrambling towards Steve. The shaky head-to-toe exam ended with him sprawled across his body, curled around him, his head riding the in and out of his breathing, listening to his heartbeat. “I thought you were dead.”

“Nope. Not yet, anyway.” Steve pulled him as tight to himself as he could. His eyes followed the small figure as she sat cross-legged a few feet away, a bloody screwdriver in her hand. He sighed and mouthed, “Thank you.”


	36. Nurse Barnes

Sam was not above whining at this point in their day, “Come on Barnes, let the paramedics do their job. Steve’s leg is a mess, you look like a bit player in a horror movie, my butt’s hanging outta my uniform and Nat’s looking good as always. It’s time to get a beer, or for you, iced tea. We all need a month’s worth of sleep.” His quiet cajoling didn’t help his nerves or the situation as he positioned himself near Bucky where he stood his ground centered in the corridor, an unresponsive Steve wrapped around his back.

Sam tried to banter his way closer, “Nice field dressing on Steve’s leg, is that an IV pole and belts? Hate to think how you picked up that skill.” The sidelong warning glance from Bucky was easily visible in the jittering light of multiple flashlights trained on him by Fury’s men. Sam stopped his advance.

“Rogers is looking pale, is that even possible with the serum?” Fury took up a position behind Sam.

“Apparently so, if he loses enough blood?” Sam never shifted his gaze from Bucky and didn’t lower his weapon.

Natasha worked to de-escalate the tension, she crept closer, her tone soft, “Barnes, you did it, you found Steve. You saved him. Now I need you to talk to us. Steve’s looking bad; we need to know if you’re you, that we’re good to go here.” Her stance remained neutral, but her hand was on a stun disk. “Judging by the number of knee-capped Hydra operatives lying around, you were Barnes a few minutes ago, and you’ve got Steve, I know that’s what matters, but there is this issue right now.” Natasha nodded and shifted her eyes to the woman standing between Barnes and themselves, “Agent Sokolov.”

Bucky’s haunted stare was a familiar given; it remained an intimidating factor. The abrupt halt in his steps when they ran towards him added to their concerns, but the engulfing welcome stopped short when the old Widow slipped beneath his arm to stand directly ahead of him. Her hand went to his chest; a bloody screwdriver hovered near his throat. “Good evening. It is a pleasure to see all of you again.” Her voice cracked, lacking it’s usual authoritative tone. She nodded in return towards Natasha.

A faceless voice behind Fury whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’ve got the kill shot on her, Sir.”

Fury countered, “Hold that.” Then asked, “Sergeant Barnes, what is your status?”

Bucky’s rasped “No,” went unheard for a heartbeat, he pushed it out again, “No. Don’t shoot her.” His shift to balance their weight broke the tension in his stance; it brought a grunt of pain from Steve and a jump to the lights covering them. He mumbled, “She’s with me,” then louder, “With us, she’s with us.”

“You are joking, right?” Sam couldn’t hide his level of being pissed off.

“Barnes, you still haven’t answered my question.” Natasha remained focused. “Last I saw you...”

Bucky interrupted, “Good. Me, I’m Bucky. Not him.” He shook his head as his gaze went from Natasha to Sam and back again.

He muttered, “Never again,” when his eyes met Mother’s cold stare. He returned her hard look and added, “You are only alive because of Steve.” A step forward into her space, “I don’t care that you killed Shostokov, I don’t care that you saved me.” Another step pushed the point of the screwdriver into his neck, he leaned close to her face, “He said not to kill you. I’ll do that for him, not you. It’s over. Now, get the fuck out of my way.” He stumbled forward, knocking her aside, her startled look and command of, “Soldat,” went ignored. The clatter of the screwdriver hitting the floor confirmed her capture when Fury’s men swarmed past him. That, and the sound of her curse, “I will always be in your head, Soldat, you will never be free of me.”

His steps grew stronger, pushed forward by the tightening embrace of Steve’s arms around his shoulders, a tilt of his head tucked Steve’s breath closer to his skin. A small and secret feeling of contentment crept into his mind as he carried him up the corridor towards the launch bay and away from his past.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

“How’s Rogers?” Fury’s absent demeanor didn’t make his concern any less sincere, although he continued to stare out the passenger window at the darkened snowy landscape under a moonless sky. The best kind of night for a high-security transfer.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and took her eyes from navigating the SUV long enough for a glance, “Imagine Rogers in traction, high on excellent drugs, pining for his best friend for the past three days. That’s how he’s doing. The real question is ‘How’s Sam holding up?’” Their shared laugh was subdued and fell away quickly.

“Speaking of Barnes...”

“Dodger. No word. No sightings. Nothing. He’s a ghost, you know.”

“I find that hard to believe; he’d just disappear after everything that just happened.” Fury wiped at condensation on the window.

A slight shrug as she turned down a dirt road with two similar vehicles following, “He wanted to go with Steve to the hospital, we stopped him, Steve begged him not to come, too dangerous for him. When I looked out the back window of the ambulance, he was standing next to Sam. Then he wasn’t.”

Fury turned towards her, “You don’t think he went after Hydra again? Or looking for Sharon? We didn’t find her for hours.”

“No. I’d say he’s close. He wouldn’t want to leave Steve. But ultimately, he’s off his meds, like it or not; they helped with the paranoia, the seizures. He hasn’t been back to any of our known locations. I know that much.”

“Rogers knows he’s missing?”

“No.” She bit her lip, “We haven’t told him. He thinks he’s lying low. We’ll tell him soon. We need to secure Sokolov; then I’ll start looking for Dodger.” Their conversation fell away until she glanced at him again, “I’m sorry about Sharon.” She checked the rear-view mirror, “She betrayed you.”

Fury shook his head, “Disappointing; that I didn’t see it coming; for both her and us. She was a good agent once. Money and revenge blinded her. What an inglorious end gutted at the bottom of a silo.”

“Sokolov’s a dangerous woman, Nick. Ninety pounds, elderly, she can fool a lot of people into thinking she’s just someone’s much-maligned grandmother.” She parked the vehicle close to the waiting chopper. “Are you sure the Raft is the right place for her?”

Fury shook his head and made his way out of the SUV, “If not the Raft then where? There’s no place else. I know you’re worried about her ability to fool people, but the Raft is the best we have to offer.”

Natasha murmured, “That’s what I thought,” as she crossed to meet the old Widow and her guards as they converged at the chopper.

“Ms. Romanova, it is good to see you again. How is my Soldat? Well, I hope.” The strain of the last few days showed in Mother's new-found frailness, her voice quiet, her hand splinted and wrapped. An inexperienced eye might think it was cruel to have an old woman with chain shackles around her feet and wrists, attached to her waist. No one there that night was inexperienced.

“Your Soldat is dead and gone. Agent Sokolov. Nothing to discuss.” Natasha noted how her words drove her shoulders inward; her head bowed, she refused to be fooled by the display. “Time to go to your new home.” She nodded towards the guards as they reached to steady the old woman’s steps. She shook them off with an unexpected fierceness to struggle on-board on her own.

“Both of you will be coming with me of course?” Sokolov called from the chopper bay. “It was such a memorable experience the last time we flew together, do you remember that? He nearly took us out of the sky that day. Magnificent.” Her smile was made all the more disturbing by her eyes closed; head tilted back hum of satisfaction.

Fury deadpanned, “No. I’ll pass. Thank you. But Ms. Romanova is always up for a thrill ride. Isn’t that right, Natasha?”

“All about the thrills.” She climbed into the co-pilot’s seat, threw on the headset and gave the pilot a thumb’s up. He nodded in return.

“Ms. Romanova, do you think my Soldat will abandon me? You don’t know him very well if you think that. He will come for me. He’ll shoot this out of the sky and whisk me away to safety.” Sokolov’s voice barely rose over the sound of the blades.

Natasha didn’t answer her directly, but her gaze fell on the pilot. He stared straight ahead, adjusting the controls, intent on the night sky. She shifted her look towards the passing landscape below and kept it there as the pilot turned to face the guards, a gun in his hand, he shot each one. Mother was the last to go down.

 

“You care about her don’t you?” Natasha whispered as they dragged the guards from the idling chopper and laid them on their sides.

Bucky didn’t answer.

“She knew you’d do this. She knew you’d save her.”

“You of all people should understand this. It isn’t simple. And - I am not saving her.” He finished putting zip-ties around a guard’s ankles and wrists.

She grabbed his arm and tugged him to face her, “I get it. This way you know where she is. You control her, you get the final say. But what about Steve, what are you going to tell him? That you squirreled your tormentor away at a private prison run by nuns in the middle of the Canadian tundra?”

“Yes. No. That’s between him and me. Besides, it’s perfect. You have no idea.” He pulled away and headed for the chopper door.

She followed him, “Don’t lie to him, not now. He might be more understanding than you think.”

“No. You and I, that’s it. He’ll twitch then he’ll blab it accidentally at some big Avengers reunion and ...”

“No, not his style at all.” Natasha caught up with him, her lean against the pilot’s door kept him from opening it, “I suspect, you don't want to tell him because you'd rather he thinks you’ve put her in the past.”

“Enough with the psych analysis, I have a therapist, I know I need to call him, been busy lately. He’s on my to-do list. Oh and let's address the real question, yes, I’m back on my meds.” Bucky slid his arm between her and the chopper and nudged her aside.

“Good to know, but not my point. Barnes, we’re only as sick as the secrets we keep.”

Bucky laid his body against the door, his forehead on the window and muttered, “Then the two of us are two damn sick individuals.”

“I don’t disagree.” She tucked herself close beside him.

“Maybe, I’ll tell him.” He rolled his head to face her, “I get it. What the fuck do I know about shit like this? I know guns, knives, killing. That’s it.”

Natasha pushed his hair from his face, “Well, even the two of you are never too old to learn.” She paused for a heartbeat then left a kiss on his cheek and stepped out of his way, “Be safe and do us a favor, don’t make him wait too long. He mopes. It’s disgusting.”

“I noticed. Trust me.” Bucky jumped in and pushed the engines to take off; he called to her, “Natalia. Ah, you know, thanks, thank you. Right. Okay. See ya, soon.”

Natasha settled on the ground next to the tranquilized guards; she watched the chopper’s blip of lights until it was far in the distance before she sent the 911 text to Fury. One last glance at the horizon, before she zip-tied herself and waited for their rescue. She rehashed her story of the Hydra operative pilot overpowering all of them. She mumbled, “Barnes, I’ve lied to Fury, you want me to lie to Steve, I've supposedly been overtaken by a single rogue Hydra agent; my reputation is taking a hit on this one, you’re gonna owe me big time.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Steve slipped in and out of the drug and pain-induced stupor for several days after the admission to the private hospital arranged by Fury and Cassie. Only a select handful of caregiver’s entered his room, Alex and Jonah drifted through his awareness, all the others were nothing more than floating bodies with blank faces and mumbled kind voices. He never questioned when everyone called him Mr. Smith. Sam once again, stayed close.

 

“Where is he, Sam? Is he here? Is he safe?” Steve slurred his words. The same questions every day, multiple times a day, forgetting he’d already asked. Forgetting they’d already answered.

Sam’s responses became rote, “He isn’t giving us his location. No, he’s not here. Yes, he’s safe.”

 

It didn’t take long for Steve to regret his mandate to Bucky, “No you are not allowed to come to the hospital. I’ll turn you in myself if you show up.” He was grateful that Bucky groaned at the empty threat, but he felt the profound pain of wishing he’d ignore his don’t-follow-me directive.

 

Natasha drifted in after the first few days; she looked tired, worried. Not her usual state.

Steve grilled her as well, “Is he hurt? Did Stark find him? Nat, where is he?”

“No more hurt than when you last saw him. No word from Stark. I don’t know where he is.” She answered in a way that was technically not a lie.

 

His fever-fueled dreams came while awake and asleep. In them, he thought he saw Bucky, moving through the room in the darkness; watching over him from the chair; he was sure Bucky held the cool cloth that brushed across his forehead and neck each night.

“I know he was here last night, Nat. I saw him.”

“I have no knowledge of that, Steve. He’s got us on a need to know basis.”

Each night Steve tried to stay awake, watching for him, but the medications and night sweats overtook him. He’d fall asleep only to wake fitfully to find a lanky nurse in long sleeve scrubs and latex gloves puttering around the room. He swore the man offering his silent protection had a ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses as well. The reassuring presence was accepted and allowed him to drift off to sleep again.

The night finally came where he woke to find his hand tangled in that ponytail as Bucky slept with his head on Steve’s chest, his metal arm thrown across his abdomen. “Buck? It’s you. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Of course it’s me. You think I listen to your stupid mandates?”

“Not safe here pal.”

“Safer here with you than out there alone.” Bucky pushed himself up to hang over Steve and study his face. “Not so feverish tonight right?”

“Better, yup.”

“Good. You’re looking at me instead of staring at the light fixtures, guess that’s a good sign.” He crawled a knee on the bed and leaned to press a careful kiss on his lips.

Steve pulled him close, his hand still tangled in his hair, he kept the kiss going. He pushed his tongue to slip between Bucky’s lips asking for more; he teased his mouth open and slid his tongue deeper, hungry for the taste of him.

Bucky pulled back, “Maybe we should wait. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in traction.” He titled his head towards Steve’s trussed up leg.

His words were barely out when Steve pulled him back into the kiss; he dragged his tongue along his lips until he relented and let him in.

Bucky told himself he wasn’t going to let this happen, had lectured himself each night as he sat watching over him, matching Steve breath for breath, that he wouldn’t have sex with him as he laid in traction in a hospital bed.

But, Steve owned all of Bucky. He gave in to Steve’s insistent hand as he pushed his metal fingers down between his legs to stroke his half-hard cock. He welcomed getting lost in the push of Steve’s tongue deep into his mouth, the taste of him sent a flush of warmth across his skin. He bit and tugged at his lip, only to fall back to their mouths pressed together, driving his tongue deeper.

Steve moaned softly into Bucky’s mouth as he dragged the metal fingers the length of his cock, his hand wrapped around Bucky’s, guiding the hesitant touch. He folded his metal fingers around the shaft, and moved their hands together, his fingers entwined with the metal, they worked to stroke his cock to hardness. A flush of heat rolled across his abdomen as he pictured his hand guiding, leading Bucky’s to bring him to come.

The need to feel his skin against his own was the only reason he pulled his hand away to let Bucky’s tight and sure grip keep going on his own. Steve snaked his hand under Bucky’s scrub top to take a fist-full of his abdomen, pulling a groan. He raked nails down his chest and dragged his hand across his skin until a fingertip slipped across his nipple, the touch pulled a shiver from Bucky.

Steve wanted more than a tremor he wanted a rush of adrenalin, he pinched his nipple, twisting and pulling until he heard the whine and felt it roll into his mouth, it sent a rush of blood between his legs.

Bucky pulled out of the kiss and dropped his head to Steve’s chest, his cheek rubbing against the hospital gown until he found his nipple, he dragged his tongue across the material, making it wet and revealing, he bit hard to pull a gasp from Steve. He dragged his cheek across his chest again to find the other nipple; he looked up to catch Steve’s eyes following him. He smirked and licked his tongue deep across the hard erect nub.

Steve’s gasping moan was as much for the nearly forgotten endearing smirk as it was for the play with his nipples. The wet soaking tongue caress, the bite and twist between his teeth drove his urge to climax, but the flash of his Bucky from their childhood in that smirk and the look of mischief in his eyes pushed Steve to come. His loud moan was covered by Bucky’s lunging kiss, as he stroked his cock through the spasming come and kept pulling at him slowly until Steve guided his hand away from the over-sensitive skin of his groin.

Bucky’s knee slipped off the bed as he took in the wetness that spewed across his metal hand and up Steve’s abdomen, his loud “Look at you what a mess!” Was followed by a growing hysterical laugh that Steve wrapped up in his arms and pulled close to reverberate into his chest. A laugh that had been missing from Steve’s life for seventy years.


	37. The Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Readers! We made it! This is the last chapter in this story, what a journey!
> 
> I want to tell you how very grateful I am for every comment, kudos, click and hit along the way I could not have done this without you! This is my First Fanfic and I began to wonder what the heck I was thinking as it rolled onward. To those of you who started this journey with me from day 1, you are amazing! To all of you who took a chance on a Work In Progress THANK YOU! Go get yourself a cookie or a beer or pizza or ice cream! Hearts and Hugs! There is a wonderful piece of artwork in Chapter "Permission" It is by taking-meds she can be found on Tumblr and DeviantArt
> 
> Update! I have started a sequel! It is tagged as a series and if you feel so inclined you can click on the "next work" tab at the end of this chapter. You are greatly appreciated!

Sam, Steve, and Natasha planted their butts on the back bumper of the pickup truck, and semi-patiently waited for Fury’s people to finalize securing the house. Natasha dropped her head on Steve’s shoulder, Sam sighed and folded his arms across his chest. Three weeks of all-things-hospital left Natasha tired, Sam cranky and Steve better, if not entirely healed. Bucky continued to perfect his ghost persona.

“What the hell are they doing in there? I’m tired; I’m hungry, I want our house back.” Sam groused while no one listened.

Steve rubbed his nearly good-to-go right leg and stared at Fury pacing the front porch; an odd dichotomy of hard-ass world-weariness with the soft yellow of an old farmhouse that spoke of home and comfort. He devoted a look of dutiful intensity towards him that he hoped masked his real thoughts; sex with Bucky.

 He couldn’t repress the small smile that crept across his face when he recalled last night’s internet search for ‘best male-male sex positions.’ It froze Natasha’s laptop with pop-ups. She was the picture of discretion when he handed her the computer that morning. “We - I broke it. Sorry. I’ll get you a new one. Sorry.”

Her response to the images when she tried to fix it was a single raised eyebrow and a slow closing of the screen. But, she made quick yet extensive plans to use the evidence as fodder for teasing in the future when the scowl-face that Steve was wearing was gone entirely.

 

The previous evening’s search debacle culminated with Steve’s red-faced banging on the keyboard and muttering, “Shit, shit, shit,” which got Bucky laughing so hard he fell out of the hospital bed backward, taking the bedside table with him. The ensuing thud and clatter rang through the midnight quiet of a sleeping ward bringing the not-so-sympathetic night nurse to his room; again. A muttered, “Sorry about that,” a slammed shut computer, and a limping attempt to help with the clean up was made all the more awkward by the shadowy reflection of Bucky curled in the fetal position under the bed. An attempt to avoid being thrown out of the place for the third time that night. The nurse signaled her “I’m done with this BS” when she firmly stated, “Goodnight Mr. Smith, get some rest, Mr. Smith, tell your friend to go home, Mr. Smith.”

 Bucky mumbled as he crawled back into the bed, “Hey, Mr. Smith, I can’t get thrown out again. I'm running out of re-entry points. Who knew a hospital would challenge my breaking and entering skills?” He rough tugged Steve into a position that suited his plans to engulf him and settled in to pursue his thorough head-to-toe body exploration.

 Steve fell back into the claiming hold of Bucky wrapped around his back. Tight shoulders relaxed into the firm press of his chest. He slipped his leg between Bucky’s and tugged his thigh over his own. The warmth of their bodies matching limb for limb washed away the tension that owned every muscle, ligament, and cell of his being. A sense of comfort, of being protected crept into his mind. He wanted more.

He couldn’t see the smile pressed to the nape of his neck, but it was clear in Bucky’s whisper, “You like this. Me. Behind you.” His answer with a roll of his hips back was met with a slow rhythmic push that brought a tighter hold and a flush across his skin when the smile became a bite. Metal fingers slipped under his T-shirt and raked up his chest to tug him back hard; the force of the pull shook his need for control; he gave in to Bucky’s insistence.

“Maybe we should do this, Steve, me, inside of you.” A rush of heat filled his gut at the rasped words that fell close to his ear, it drove his need to bring their mouths together, to push a deep and hungry kiss. His “Maybe so,” stumbled out but was lost in Bucky’s moan when he slipped his hand between them to slowly drag a thumb down the bulge pressing into his ass. He tugged at the sweats, pushing his hand beneath the band to brush against his cock, he waited for the gasp and push he knew it would bring from Bucky. Steve wanted to hear that sound, the gasps, and moans of the pleasure he was giving him. The heat of his body matched his own despite the clothing, he wanted to feel that warmth skin-to-skin, wanted to watch his face when he entered him again. He pulled out of the kiss, rolled towards him, his hand caught his cheek, “We’re going home. In the morning, that’s it; we’re going home.”

Bucky’s aborted sex thoughts gave way to agreement, “Sure, I could have sworn I suggested that three weeks ago, but you had to go get your leg broken. So yeah, I’m good with that plan.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Fury’s irritated baritone voice wasn’t what dragged Steve from his daylight, in-public sexual musings about Bucky. It was his looming figure as he stood directly in front of Steve and made his demands, apparently for the second time:

“Rogers, are you even listening to me? Please tell me you are at least humoring me.”

Steve blinked to refocus, “Go on.”

“Rogers, tell your friend he owes me a chopper.” Fury’s voice built to a crescendo as he continued, “Not just any chopper, I want a Sikorsky S-97 with variable speed, rigid coaxial main rotors, and a variable-pitch pusher propeller. I want a god-damned compound helicopter with fly-by-wire control and dynamic anti-vibration actuators to cancel out shaking.” He stalked the front yard in front of his captive audience then shouted, “And, I want guns, big guns, fifty calibers with 500 rounds and seven-shot rocket pods.” He turned to face the house and announced with an additional amount of enthusiasm and depth, “Barnes. You owe me.”

Fury stalked away, followed by a scurry of black-clad workers who left the front door open.

The three of them sat staring at the house.

Sam opened, “Well, that was interesting. Do you suppose they cleaned the fridge while they were in there?”

Steve’s response came a full minute after his observation, “Alright, I’ll see you two in a month, maybe two. See ya.” He pushed off the truck and headed for the house.

Sam didn’t fake the look of surprise, “Wait. My bed. I want my bed. We don’t live here anymore? Is that the message? I’m hurt. Really.”

Natasha patted his arm, “Let’s go, Birdman. You do not want to be here.”

“Why? It’s our place too, or it was.”

She tugged him towards her car, “It’s ours too, but you-know-who is in there. Let them get it out of their systems. A month, two maybe three tops. I’ve got a great sub-lease in Edinburgh; you’ll love it there.”

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

 

Steve let his forehead rest on the glass of the front door while he watched them drive away. A gnawing ache in his leg caused him to shift a step back into the firm abs and immovable stance of Bucky. He wasn’t startled. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Way too long, Rogers. You’re going soft; I nearly peed myself trying not to laugh.”

Steve drew in a breath, “We need to talk,” but a thumb pressed against his lower back slowly traced the curve of his spine upwards forcing him to loosen his resolve.

Bucky muttered as he rubbed his cheek across the back of his head “They’re not coming back, right?”

Steve rasped, “Nope,” and gave in to Bucky’s need to touch him. He twisted through the pinning hold to face him; he welcomed the roaming hands that tugged his jacket from his shoulders and pulled at the buttons on his pants.

Bucky leaned his forehead against Steve’s and whispered, “Good, I got plans for us.”

“Buck, we need to talk.” The words stumbled out despite Steve getting lost in his touch.

“No talking. We’re busy.” He pulled at the T-shirt, raking his fingers along his abdomen.

“Yes talking. Where’s the chopper?” He grabbed the roaming hands to hold them against his chest.

Bucky shook his head and groaned, “Fury’s an idiot. That chopper was at least 20 years old, no way he gets a Sikorsky S-97 for that piece of crap I flew. He could get three of those used through an arms dealer I know for the price of one Sikorsky.”

“Seriously, you lost the chopper?”

“No. Of course not. I said he’s an idiot. If he looked behind his silo, he’d find it. I landed it in his backyard.”

Steve let his head fall back against the door, “I don’t want to know about Sokolov, do I?”

Bucky pulled his hands away from his grip and tucked them into his armpits. He stared past Steve at the wintry landscape, letting the moment sit still and quiet.

Steve studied his face; he drew in a breath to ask again but Bucky spoke.

“Look, it’s snowing. Do we even have a shovel? Or are we going to get snowed in and stumble out of here during the spring thaw.”

He turned to follow his gaze. “A shovel? Maybe in the garage.”

Bucky’s next pause was longer, his words quiet, “She’s safe.”

“Safe? She would have been safe at the Raft. Fury trusted you.” Steve turned to watch him again.

Bucky’s response started coherently but fell to a ramble as he stared past him, “No, The Raft can’t hold her. She’ll fool them. Fury used me. Like she used me. Like every other organization has used me. She’s safe, not protected, not free. I know where she is, I control it, I call the shots now, tables turned. No more mind control, no more Widow manipulation, no more games, no more...”

Steve caught his face between his hands. “Okay, safe. I get it. Done. I trust you.”

Bucky laid his weight on Steve, pushing him back against the door. His breath warmed Steve’s neck; his hands slipped around his waist, he whispered, “Take me to bed. I want you to take me to bed.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky let Steve lead him up the stairs. He followed his pull into the bedroom and watched as Steve undressed him, tugging away the T-shirt, unzipping his pants and dragging them down his legs. The only help was to kick off his shoes. He wanted Steve to do this, to own all of him, he would willingly give himself over to whatever Steve chose to do. He trusted him with everything, and now he would trust him with his body, he’d already given him his soul.

Bucky closed his eyes and let Steve’s words flow over him, “I’m going to touch you. I’m going to touch, and caress every inch of your body.”

He tilted his head to follow the whispered words as Steve moved around him, his hands doing exactly what he said he was going to do. Warm, rough-skinned fingers caressed his inner thighs, slipped across the point of his hip and traced a line deep into his groin, pointedly not connecting with his cock. His breath caught at the tease.

“I’m going to kiss you, but not on your mouth, on your body. Can I do that? Can I kiss you anywhere? My choice?”

His voice was close to Bucky’s ear; the words ended with the wet touch of his tongue softly dragging along the lobe. He shuddered his response.

“I need your words, say it’s okay or not."

Bucky nodded and muttered “Yes.” He held his breath and waited, nearly opening his eyes when the wait took a heartbeat too long. The touch finally came, a gentle kiss laid down on his belly, he jumped at the contact.

“You okay still?”

“Yes.”

Another kiss, firmer this time, a space lower than the first one. Bucky shivered away the flinch as Steve dropped the press of his mouth slowly down to his cock. He could hear him, long deep breaths that told Bucky he was right there feeling the tension, immersed in the moment with him. The quick touch of Steve’s tongue to the tip of his cock, made his knees nearly give out. Steve caught his hips and held him as he dragged his tongue up the shaft and wrapped his mouth around him. He couldn’t hold back the moan when Steve pulled his hips forward, moving his cock into his mouth, the feel of his lips pulling on him, teeth grazing his shaft,  brought him so close to coming he grabbed Steve's shirt and dragged him to his feet.

“Hey, I wasn’t done.” Steve protested with a laugh in his tone, he whispered close to his cheek, “You liked that.”

“You’re still dressed, what the hell.” Bucky’s voice was thick. He pulled at Steve’s clothes, rushing him out of them. He grabbed his arms to push him on the bed, but Steve pulled away.

“No. My way remember? I’m choosing.”

Bucky relented to let Steve’s hands fall on his hips, he stumbled back with the push and landed on the bed. The rush of weakness came on again when Steve’s knee slipped between his legs, a hint of panic raced through his mind when his hand wrapped around his neck. Steve's crawl forward with a grip on his throat forced him to scramble towards the head of the bed. A flash of sweat across his chest when Steve settled between his thighs, the press of his knees, the rough caress of the sensitive skin brought Bucky to open his legs. A rush of heat grew up from his gut, the fingers around his neck tightened, he sucked in a breath, his pupils went wide. He vaguely heard Steve ask “You still okay, pal? You look unsure.”

Bucky tried to speak, he nodded and blinked, no words came out at first, then a quiet, “Yes.”

Steve brought their foreheads together, kept their eyes locked on one another so long that Bucky reached to kiss him, Steve pulled away. Bucky tried again, raising up on his elbows to chase Steve’s mouth only to have his wrists caught and pinned over his head.

The slow rhythmic press of Steve’s full cock as he pushed up between his legs brought his hips up to match Steve’s push. Bucky fell into deep panting breaths as Steve left dark marks on his neck, raked his teeth along his jaw and dragged his tongue across his nipple. He ached for Steve to be inside of him, he rasped, “Do it, I want you inside.”

Steve shook his head and laughed “My way, be patient, we’ve got a lifetime.”

Bucky's groan ended when Steve’s hand began to pull at his cock, long slow strokes that built to harder and faster; he pushed his foot on the bed to help drive his cock into Steve’s hand. He was lost in the sound of Steve’s low moan, the heat of their flesh pressed together, he thought he heard himself say “Shit I’m coming.” He groaned at the hot wetness that fell on his stomach. He opened his eyes to see Steve, kneeling over him, slowly stroking both of them through the final throes of coming.

Bucky sat up, grabbed Steve and dragged him down to full weight lie on top of himself. Arms and legs tangled, wrapped together, like when they were kids. The panting, heaving chests slowly dissipated, the sweat began to cool. By the time Steve pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around them, Bucky was asleep. He laid on his side and watched him. The long slow deep breaths of someone who feels safe, who knows without any doubt that someone is watching over him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Bucky woke to the repetitive thwacking sounds of a helicopter’s blades, it pulled a hot flush of sweat and adrenalin from his body. His jolt upright nearly woke Steve; flesh fingers wrapped around the handle of a knife sheathed by the head of the bed. Bare feet dropped silently to the floor; he paused in the middle of the bedroom making his threat assessment. A quick glance at the window reassured him. The blinds danced in the cold night air from the window they’d opened. The noise threw his mind back to his last mission. The one where he delivered Mother to her final destination. He hoped. As much as he wanted to lie back down next to the inviting warmth of Steve wrapped in a blanket, the tug of the memory made him wander the house. He didn't want her in their bed. He found himself in the darkened kitchen, wrapped in a quilt and nothing else staring out the glass doors. Moonlight made the newly fallen snow glisten and sparkle in a way he’d never seen in Siberia. Maybe he just didn’t notice that kind of thing as the Soldier. He reveled in the moment now.

Steve padded up to snake his arms under the quilt and slip in behind him. “You okay?”

Bucky’s nod was followed by “Damn, your hands are cold, so is your chest, put some clothes on.” The fake growl contradicted the way he pulled him tighter around himself.

“So what’s this all about?” Steve held out the sketch pad, open to a page that had smudged and scrawled words that looked a lot like Bucky’s handwriting.

“I don’t know; it’s your sketch pad. Wilson was probably writing a grocery list. Or Romanova and her spy shit.”

“Nope not me, or Sam or Nat. It’s your incredibly bad handwriting; here I’ll try to read it.”

“I should have told you before now. I...loved you since the beginning of time. It was better to … “

Steve paused.

Bucky twisted to see the writing and glance at Steve, “Better to what?”

A mumbled, “Never mind.”

Bucky pulled the pad from his hands. “Gimme it, ‘Better to die than hurt you again. Forgive me.’” He stared at the pad for a heartbeat then threw it on the island. “It was my suicide note. I forgot I wrote that. I was… out of my mind. I’m sorry.” The tension that gripped his stomach pushed him a step away from Steve; he faced the door again.

“Not anymore, Buck, not anymore.” Steve’s hands tugged at his hips, pulling him skin-to-skin, right where he wanted him to be. His fingers slow caressed his abdomen, wandered down his thighs. He pressed his hips to Bucky’s ass and wrapped an arm across his belly, holding him in place. He rubbed his cheek across his back.

Bucky mumbled, “Keeping the beard, I take it.”

“Yup. Gotta problem with it.”

He pushed his ass back, “No. Looks good. I like it.”

“Keeping the long hair?” He dragged his fingers through his hair and tugged; his tongue slipped along the slope of his exposed neck.

Bucky laughed, “Anything that makes you do that to me is worth keeping."

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Mother

 

Gieta Sokolov, Black Widow, architect, and guardian of the words that lived in Bucky’s brain woke from a groggy, drug-induced sleep lying on a painfully thin horse-hair mattress.

Several spins inside her head eventually let her eyes and nausea settle before she could fully take in her surroundings. A six-by-eight room painted the standard issue putrid green that adorned the walls of hundreds of aging psych facilities. She knew the color well; a throw-back to earlier days when things went south in the Red Room and she lost control of the Soldier. She closed her eyes and wished it away. It didn’t work.

A first attempt to roll to her knees was colored by expletives when she tried to use her fractured hand. The successful second attempt brought her to her feet, although with a stagger towards the wall, she braced with one arm, facing the expanse of green. “I despise this color. This will have to change.”

A quick shiver rolled through her; she glanced at the room and cringed at the ridiculously bright yellow beanbag chair that graced one corner. A thin-lipped grimace towards the unenclosed porcelain toilet was followed by her foot re-examining the bare mattress. She shook off the distinct memory of similar rooms; the items here were reminders of days gone by, conditions she had orchestrated for the Soldier when he wasn’t in cryo.

Another shiver reminded her to examine the walls, “No heat controls? This will not do.”

The jiggled attempt at the door handle proved it to be locked. She stood on her toes to reach the thick glass window; it afforded a limited view of a long and empty hallway.

Her reconnaissance told her there were several doors all similar in form and color with numbers painted over each one. She pushed open the food tray trap and called “Hello?” A gruff male voice answered, “Hello, hello, hello.” It seemed to come from the room across from hers but they ignored any of her attempts to engage in a conversation. She gave up and moved to the wire-mesh and iron-barred window.

A hot pink and yellow sunrise crested over the horizon lending the forbidden landscape a warm glow and adding a bright glaze to the walls of her room. The most notable feature laid out before her was a wall. A flat-stone and steel structure topped with razor wire that ran as far as her eye could see surrounding the building. Several towers broke its monotony, complete with floodlights, guards, and radio-antenna; she mocked the concession to the modern age of electronic tracking. “Mind control is far superior.”

Her eye was drawn to the landscape beyond the barricade; a wide humorless barren covered with snow and empty of anything pleasant to contemplate. All the things she hated. It reminded her of Siberia. Godforsaken Siberia. “At least there were mountains there.” She huffed to no one in particular and wondered “How many times have I complained about that to you, Pasha.”

The irony didn’t settle in until she saw him standing in the yard, looking up at her. She watched him - watching her. Her hand moved to the glass before she could stop herself.

His subtle shift of weight, the tilt of his head, how his shoulders squared from his waiting stance; she read his every tic and twitch as always. He saw her. “I know you Soldat. You will not leave me here.”

The last feature she noted about the Soldier was his smile. Not something she could recall seeing except for a moment in the Red Room years earlier. He never directed it towards her before now. The sick feeling that lodged itself deep in her gut grew to a rising panic that sent sweat rolling down her back. His long look towards her ended when he turned his back, his sure and purposeful stride never faltered or slowed; if anything it quickened as it carried him away. The Soldier never looked back.

“How dare you leave me here, you ungrateful, piece of shit. I am Mother. Get the hell back here and let me out.” She drove her fist into the window and screamed “Soldat.”

 

A rotund man dressed in a long dark robe rapped hard on the door to Gieta Sokolov’s room and pinned open the tray flap. His toneless monologue boomed through the hallway and rolled into her room, “Good Morning Inmate 36993. Welcome to Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane. Your sentence here is not commutable. There will be no visitors. There are no records of your existence here. We have explicit instructions regarding your care. No purposeful harm will come to you. Meals are served in your room precisely at 6 AM, 11 AM, and 5 pm. There will be no utensils, ever...” The man’s voice droned on in the background of Mother’s hearing while the echoing voice across the hall screamed “Soldat.”

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Bucky stood in the cold wind that swept across the remote prison’s courtyard. He hoped his shivering would keep freezing to death at bay; he was more than willing to lose a toe to the cold, anything to have this moment. He knew she would wake eventually, knew she’d take stock of her surroundings and that would mean looking out the window. This was a long time coming; the day he’d turn his back on her when he would be outside of her control, a free man. The sun threw its gold and red heat on the building, it fell across the window on the fourth floor where he knew she would be. His eyes stung from the cold and lack of sleep, but they were still clear enough to see when her face peered out across the yard. She didn’t seem to notice him at first but then she did. The moment their eyes met felt oddly unceremonious; it was intimate and distant, familiar and foreign; he thought briefly about giving her the finger, but thoughts of Steve made him rise above it. Bucky wanted the moment he turned his back on Mother to be one of certainty, his turn to leave was clear, deliberate and without hesitation, a message of finality. It was the best he could do on a wintry day near the top of the world, freezing his ass off leaving his tormentor to rot in a secret prison.

Bucky climbed into Fury's chopper and switched on the rotors, he rubbed his flesh hand on his thigh trying to get the feeling back. A thought about Steve lying in traction filled his mind, until...

“ _Well, that was anticlimactic. There should have been a swell of music or fireworks or puking right? Something to signify this monumental event? Then again, Soldat, we’ll never really be free of her, will we?”_

Bucky sighed, “Free of her, yes. Free of you, apparently not.”

 

**THE END OF THIS BOOK!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane is a maximum security facility I borrowed from the Marvel 616 comic series. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for following along. What an adventure! I've learned so much about writing, story-telling and myself during these past few months. I so appreciate your reading along with my humble story.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * ["I hear voices." "I don't care, as long as you still hear mine."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608173) by [cobaltmoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony), [Voodoosgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodoosgirl/pseuds/Voodoosgirl)




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